A Giant Among Wolves (ASOIAF SIOC)
by Soczab
Summary: A story examining the life of Eyron Stark, the second born son of Ned and Cat Stark. A SI/OC with *no book* knowledge. A realistic insert focused on exploring the culture shock of being in Westeros, and fleshing out the subtle politics and culture of the North.
1. Chapter 1

A Giant Among Wolves

_"These Songs will not be to everyone's taste, for there is little variation among them, all of them containing the same words, such as: hero, knight, horseman, galley slave, serpent, dragon, wolf, lion, eagle, falcon's nest and sword, sabers, lances, necklets, medallions, decrees, heads chopped off, slaves carried away, etc. May those who find them pleasing sing them; may those who do not, go off to sleep."_

—Andrija Kačić Miošić

A/N: So, I spent 16 hours on trains the last few days, but every-time I tried to write my other story, this kept creeping back in. Finally I gave up the ghost and typed up a few chapters. "Fish" is still my main fic. I'll post a chapter a week of this one until what I've written is up. And if people like it, I'll try to update now and then sporadically. And if not, we'll consider it a failed experiment.

A couple of explanations of what this story is. Since I believe readers should know what they are getting into. This is a self insert/OC story. The SI is Ned and Cat's second son. Essentially, it goes on the premise that Cat gave birth to a second son roughly a year after Robb was born. So he is between Robb and Sansa in age.

This fic is not a tech uplift fic. This fic is also not a fix-it fic. The SI has ***NO KNOWLEDGE*** of ASOIAF. Too many of the fics I read centered on the North are all about 'fixing' their story. Some butterflies in the story are inevitable due to the SI's birth… but some of those butterflies will be bad. And, unlike "Fish," butterflies are not the main 'point' of this story. My goal with this fic is to explore two ideas. 1) Usually when we have a SI it is focused on how the SI changes Westeros. I wanted to explore how being stuck in Westeros would instead change the average modern-urban-western SI. 2) I wanted to examine the culture and politics of the North more closely. Both of which are very rich, but I feel seldom examined properly. Most fics centered on the north either get turned into 'fix-it' ones, or treat them like caricatures. So there we go, enough of my jabbering, time for the story.

**Chapter 1:**

The knowledge of who I was before, my past life, whatever it was, came upon me slowly. As near as I can tell, and from what I've heard and pieced together, I was a perfectly normal baby. Something I suppose I should be grateful for, as it saved me several possibly life-scarring memories.

So no, I hadn't always remembered my past life. Or that I was supposed to be enjoying my first year in college, not stuck in a medieval castle. As near as I can tell, my memories had started coming back around the age of two or three. Perhaps my brain simply hadn't been able to handle them before then? It had been like slowly waking from a dream. I hadn't snapped back into awareness instantly. Instead, it had been like I was remembering things through a haze, or seeing my memories through water. And gradually over time my mind sharpened and I remembered better. By the time I was four, I could remember my past life perfectly.

Which was no blessing, let me tell you. Ignorance is bliss. Even years later, I often wished those memories hadn't come back. Even ignoring the whole fact that I was now seven in age, but decades older in experience, my memories hadn't brought me anything useful. It is no blessing that I can remember television, pizza, or the New York Yankees. If anything it just made me more miserable in my present situation.

It wasn't even the medieval technology, bland food, and lack of indoor plumbing. Bad as those things were. It was partially the cold. I rarely left Winterfell if I could avoid it, as even though it was summer it was just too bone-jarringly cold. I shuddered when I remembered the one, supposedly mild, winter I had lived through in this hellhole. But more than anything else, it was just the feeling of being out of place. Not belonging. Everything, even my thought process, was just different. And I had to live with the constant disappointed looks of my family and everyone else here. So no, my memories were not a blessing.

I gave my head a shake, trying to get my mind off that disappointing sidetrack. I tried to focus back in on my book, a biography of Grand Maester Aethelmure. Normally, I gobbled up anything I could about the south and the Citadel, but this volume was particularly dull. Still, I would push on. The library was my one sanctuary in the castle, and any free minute I had I hurried here. The warm water piped through its walls assured I was always toasty warm, it was furnished with comfortable furniture, and I was rarely bothered here. Really, the only down side was that it was quite a distance from the main keep and had an annoyingly steep exterior staircase.

Well, that and it really wasn't much of a library by my standards either. Ohh, it was great for a medieval castle. It had hundreds of books. Maybe even a thousand. But then you had to remember, in my first life our family house had more than that. Really the library was just one very big room at the top of the tower. I couldn't help but glumly guess that in a few more years I would have managed to read every book in the place. God knew what I'd do to occupy myself then. It's why I forced myself to savor even the boring volumes like the one on Maester Aethelmure. Until I could somehow escape this frozen wasteland, I had to savor and enjoy ever last book.

And hell. I realized objectively I had it pretty lucky. I was the second son of a Lord Paramount, even if said lord was in the middle of said frozen wasteland. I shuddered to imagine what life would have been like if I had been born a peasant. Short and brutal I suspected. From what I'd gleaned from books and conversation, Westeros was far worse than even medieval earth had been. Still, that didn't mean I liked my lot here. I did have a plan though, and with luck this library would help me on the way. I'd read everything I could on the citadel, Maesters, and the south. It was hardly a glamorous life, but the idea of living in a city, in the warm south, surrounded by thousands of books… well that was probably as good as I was going to get it in this world. But for now, I was still stuck here.

Gloomily I turned back to my book, but had barely turned a page before the tower door creaked open. Irritated, I glanced up at who was disturbing my sanctuary, but the grimace turned to a smile when I spotted Maester Luwin.

"Maester!" The small man was perhaps my favorite person in the castle. Winterfell was in desperately short supply of people capable of holding an intellectual conversation.

"Eyron," he smiled down at me. "I thought I would find you here."

I grinned back up at him. "Is it time for lessons?" I loved lessons with Luwin. I used to be grouped with Robb, Jon, and Theon for lessons, but the Maester had seen how bored I got with their slow pace. These days, he taught me separate.

Luwin gave me a look of fond exasperation. "I've never seen a boy take to his studies as much as you. But lessons today are not with me. Lord Eddard wants you in the yard again."

My smile immediately dimmed. Not again. "I'd rather stay here. With you. You promised you would tell me of Edrick Snowbeard… Aethelmure is surprisingly vague on why exactly he chose to let the wolf's den fall…" I let a tone of disbelief creep into my voice, trying to tempt the Maester into a lecture.

"He didn't LET it fall, Eyron." Luwin took on a lecturing tone. "Really, by that time he was king only in name. His grandson was acting in his stead, but didn't have the authority to call the banners…"

I grinned, my plan was working. "Yes, but still. Slavers? None of the local lords could do anything?"

"It was more complicated than that and you know it… but…" Luwin cut himself off, giving me a stern look as he folded his arms inside his voluminous sleeves. "But we can talk about King Edrick later. Your father wants you."

Grrr. "Do I have to? I'm in the middle of a book!" I helpfully nudged it forward so he could see the open volume.

Luwin leaned over to see what I was reading and gave his head a shake. "The life of Grand Maester Aethelmure?" He gave a snort. "Than you should be thanking me. Besides, the book will still be waiting for you when you are done."

I smothered another grin. Yet another reason I liked him was his dry sense of humor. It went right over the heads of most of the dunderheads here, but I found it refreshing. Still. Luwin was annoyingly unbending when it came to my father, and there would be no arguing with him. I suspected if Lord Eddard told him to jump off the castle walls, he would only pause to ask which one.

Luwin shook his head. "Don't give me that look either, Eyron. Your father isn't wrong. It is good your mind is so sharp, you are one of the brightest boys your age I've seen. But there is more to being a lord than book smarts, you need to know how to lead men as well. You need to apply yourself to all of your studies, not just here in the library."

I hopped up from the table at that, my mood officially ruined. I tended to be a stubborn individual, but I knew there was no getting out of this. And I liked Luwin, but the last thing I wanted was to have to sit here and listen to another lecture. "The yard?" I grumbled.

Luwin sighed as I ignored his words, but gave a nod. "By the armory. They are waiting for you."

I gave a curt nod, pulled my furs tighter around me, and braved the outdoors.

—

I hated my sword lessons. All my weapons lessons really. Which was why I was particularly displeased to find myself wrapped in padded leather armor so thick I could barely bend my arms, and a wood practice sword in my hand. The fact that I was facing off against Robb, with my father and several retainers looking on, only made it worse.

Honestly, sword training in Winterfell brought back my worst memories of sports. I'd been horribly unathletic in my previous life. I was the kid whom they stuck in left-field and hoped he never saw the ball. The kid who always struck out, or who when he went to throw the ball it landed five feet in front of him. It had been humiliating, and my reaction had always been to dig my heels in more.

I clearly had different genetics in this world, but maybe it was the attitude? Or the approach? I spent far too much time thinking and not enough acting perhaps. Either way, I suspect this was going to be a humiliating experience. Like the last dozen previous experiences.

"No, Eyron… like this…" Ser Rodrik's calloused hand moved over mine, adjusting my grip on the training sword.

Dutifully I adjusted my fingers, though the sword felt no more comfortable now in my hand than it had before. My arm ached from trying to hold it aloft, and I could see the wooden blade wavering already.

Ser Rodrik heaved a sigh of disappointment as he looked at me. But he didn't say anything. I suspected my incompetence was wearing down his resolve. Instead he stepped back glancing between me and my brother. "Are you ready Lord Robb?"

My brother gave a firm nod, stepping forwards. I gave him a wary glance. Robb wasn't cruel, but neither would he hold back. He was too dutiful to do that. Really, he got on my nerves. He was only a year older than me, or ten years younger depending how you looked at it, but he seemed to do everything right. It was rather embarrassing, truth be told.

It likely didn't help that even though he was only a year older than me, he was twice as strong. I was as tall as Robb, but I took after my father. Long face, gray eyes, and slim build. Robb even as a kid was already broad shouldered and twice as strong as me.

My musings were cut forcefully short as Robb closed in on me, wood sword rising. I felt a stinging swat to my arm, and suddenly I was sitting in the mud, sword halfway across the yard.

Great. Now I was cold, sore, and muddy to boot. I heaved myself back to my feet, a harder task than you might imagine with all my padding.

Robb dutifully stepped back to let me get to my feet, but Ser Rodrik was tugging at his whiskers in frustration. "Eyron! No! How many times do I have to tell you? Your sword should be part of your arm. Can you drop your arm?"

"No, Ser Rodrik…" I mumbled as I picked the sword up off the ground.

He heaved a sigh. "Are you alright boy?"

"Yes, Ser Rodrik."

Another sigh. "Why don't you attack Robb this time?" His voice was neutral, but I could tell he had as little optimism in this change of plans as I did. "Robb, I want you to defend."

"You can do it Eyron!" That was my half brother Jon. He was grinning and shouting encouragement. He was a good kid and always felt like he had to encourage me or help me. In a way we were both outcasts to an extent. The only difference was, I was an outcast due to total lameness and the 'weird' fact that I liked books more than swords. Jon because for some reason he got blamed for our father cheating on my mother.

Of course, Jon cheering, while well meant, only made me more self-conscious. My father was there with Jon and several of the guards watching. The guards were joking and only half paying attention, but I could feel my fathers eyes on me even though he never said a word. His face was solemn and showed no emotion, but I knew him well enough to feel the disappointment behind those eyes. He never said anything, but I could tell. And no matter how much I told myself that I didn't care, I still couldn't help but hate disappointing him. It probably didn't help that I never knew my father from my past life. The whole thing was just awkward.

"Eyron! Move!" That was Ser Rodrik getting impatient with my delaying.

Hesitantly I moved forward, swatting at Robb. My brother sidestepped and brushed my half-hearted strike aside.

"Again Eyron!" Rodrik bellowed.

I swatted with the sword again, almost losing my balance this time. Robb took advantage of that, and before I knew it I was on my butt in the mud yet again. Robb, of course, was too honorable to follow up once I was on the ground and took a step back.

Rodrik had that defeated look in his eyes as I scrambled to my feet. He heaved another sigh and pointed to the side of the yard. "Eyron, why don't you practice your form over there?" Rodrik's eyes searched the crowd on the sidelines, settling on my half-brother. "Jon, do you fancy a bout?"

Jon bounded forwards eagerly, taking up a practice sword himself. Robb turned as well, a smile breaking out over his face. Those two were thick as thieves.

I slunk off a few feet, just as pleased to be spared Rodrik's attention. The only good thing about the man, was he seemed to be giving up on me lately. It had only taken three years. With any luck, I could stay in the corner out of sight pretending I was practicing my forms while he focused on my brothers.

I halfheartedly smacked my sword at a wood dummy as I watched Jon getting into his padded armor while Robb gestured excitedly to him, recounting some adventure.

Suddenly, Jon turned around to me, flashing a shy smile before his face turned solemn again. "Eyron. Did you hear? Father is going to let us leave the castle later!"

"We're going to patrol for wilding raiders!" That was Robb, talking excitedly.

Jon rolled his eyes and hastened to reassure me. "Jory is coming with us. And Vanyon Poole. We're visiting some Mill on Acorn Water."

Robb jumped in again. "Yeah, but Jory Said we'll be RIGHT NEAR the Wolfswood!"

Jon's eyes were still focused on me though. "Wanna come? It'll be fun."

I hesitated and gave a half hearted shrug. I felt bad turning him own… but the last thing I wanted was to go traipsing through the countryside. No roads. Lots of cold. Wild animals. And knowing my luck we'd be stuck camping overnight.

Robb saw my hesitation and rolled his eyes in a dramatic fashion. "C'mon Jon. Let's go spar. Jory said we've gotta finish before we can go."

Jon hesitated another moment, eying me. But when I made no move to follow after them, finally turned back to Robb and followed him.

No way did I want to go walking anywhere near someplace called the Wolfswood, but I also couldn't help but feel a surge of frustration and self-pity. Because yes, I was lonely here. There weren't a lot of kids my age in Winterfell, and those that were shared no interests with me. It didn't help that at times I felt like a real seven year old, and other times I felt like the college student I had been in my previous life. And most of all, it didn't help that I was stuck in this frozen hell-hole. I hated it here. I fought back the shameful prickling in my eyes and gave another half-hearted wack at the dummy with the sword.

"Eyron." I startled at the noise, turning around in surprise to see Eddard Stark behind me.

"Father." I mumbled. I always felt a bit uncomfortable with the man. He was always so formal, not at all what my expectations of a parent were from my previous life. At least with my mother, she wasn't afraid to show emotion and love with me. But my father… well… he always came across as some sort of inscrutable unmovable lord.

For a long moment he just observed me quietly, with solemn gray eyes. Finally, he rested a hand on my shoulder. "I think that's enough practice for today."

"Yes Father." I mumbled. I was both relieved to be done with the sword practice, and somewhat embarrassed that once again I had failed.

After depositing the practice sword back in the armory and losing my extra padding, I was about to slink off back to the library tower when my father stopped me with a raised hand.

"Father?" I blinked in surprise. It was a little unusual for him to get involved in my routine. Usually he was too busy doing whatever medieval lords did in this world.

"Eyron, I was hoping we could talk." One thing I would say for the man, he never talked down to me or treated me like a child.

I looked up expectantly at him, waiting for him to say what was on his mind. Instead though, he turned and started walking across the yard towards the godswood.

I heaved a sigh. The godswood was basically a mini forest with creepy trees in it. Not exactly my favorite place, but clearly I was meant to follow my father.

Another sigh as I thought longingly of the warm library tower and the waiting books. But it never crossed my mind to not follow him. Eddard Stark just had this air of silent authority about him that caused you to do what he wanted. It was kind of impressive to be honest.

But it also meant that I quickly broke into a light jog to catch up with him. Once I was beside him, he didn't glance down at me at all, but he did let his hand ruffle my hair for a moment before resting on my shoulder.

Yeah, he was an alright father I supposed. I wasn't sure why we were going to go the godswood or what we had to talk about, but maybe this would be an opportunity for me to subtly broach plan 'get somewhere warm and civilized' with him.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The heart tree always made me feel uneasy. Intellectually, I of course knew it was just a tree someone had carved a face into, but it still had a weight of presence. Or perhaps that was just a sign I had taken in too many stories from Old Nan? I liked to think I was educated enough to not believe in magic, or tree gods, or any superstitious nonsense, but I couldn't deny the godswood was a bit of an intimidating place.

Regardless, I knew better than to interrupt my father while he prayed. I'd never really been formally instructed in the old gods, which was a bit of an oddity to my mind. As near as I could tell, the new gods were something of an organized religion with priests and holy books and the like, but with the old gods worship was more personal and private.

The bonus of being born in the north was thus that I got to avoid listening to droning priests in temples. The downside was I often found myself sitting in the cold and the dirt in front of a tree. At least I mostly managed to avoid the place except during those times, such as the present, when my father insisted on us accompanying him in his prayers.

A gust of wind blew through the trees and I found myself shivering. Maybe sitting in a nice warm sept, listening to priests rant about the seven, would be the lesser of evils after all?

As though sensing my thoughts another blast of wind rushed past, causing the heart tree to look particularly lifelike. I shivered again.

Finally, my father looked up, done with his silent prayers. He let the silence stretch between us though, until uncomfortable I finally broke it. "Father?"

"Eyron." Another long pause as he regarded me with solemn eyes. "Maester Luwin tells me you are making great progress in your studies. He says he has never had a better student."

A small smile came across my face. Despite myself, I felt warm in his praise. "I've been reading on Edrick Snowbeard. But there are so few sources. Maester Luwin says he means to write to the Citadel to see if they have any other books they can lend us."

Father continued as though I had not said anything. "Sir Rodrik is less impressed with your progress. He tells me that you put no effort into his lessons, and have made little improvement at all in the last year."

I squirmed a bit uncomfortably at that. "I'm just not very good at swords."

Father did not look convinced. "If you were truly unable to learn, I could accept it. But you do not try. I see that for myself. If you put the same effort into the practice yard as you did into your studies with the Maester, you would be your brother's equal."

The equal of Robb? I was skeptical of that, and something of that must have shown on my face as father pushed on. "I'm serious Eyron. I've seen it for myself. You do not try in the yard. These lessons are important, as important as your histories and books."

I made another face. "I don't want to be a warrior."

He shook his head. "It's not about want. A lord must be able to defend his land and his vassals, else he is no lord at all."

I hesitated at that. There it was, as good an opening to bring up my plan as I would get. "Father…" I trailed off and then steeled myself. "Father. I don't want to be a lord though. I was thinking. That is. Like you said, Maester Luwin says I am a good student. I was thinking it might make sense for me to go to the Citadel."

I trailed off at that. Hands nervously fiddling with the hem of my shirt. There. It was out in the open. Finally, I glanced up to see my father studying me cautiously.

"You wish to study at the Citadel? To become a Maester?"

Eagerly I nodded. Was he listening to me? Visions danced in my head of the warm south. A real city. And all the books I could read.

Still, he hesitated. "A second son would not normally be sent to the Citadel."

I jumped in, I'd given this lots of thought. "But with Bran, you'd still have an heir and a spare. You don't need me. Robb will make a better lord than I could ever be"

He gave me a considering look at that. "You wish to avoid your duty? But what if Robb didn't wish to be Lord of Winterfell? If he wished to join the Night's Watch? Or the Citadel himself?"

I rolled my eyes at that. "But he doesn't. He wants to be Lord."

He nodded again. "So he does. But the gods often test us in ways we do not expect Eyron. I was second born myself. I never in a hundred years thought I would be Lord of Winterfell. Nor did I wish for it. Yet if my father had not also prepared me for that burden, where would we be today? I pray with all my heart that you are never tested in such a way. But being second born is no excuse to shirk your duties. And even if your brother lives long and has many sons, do you not wish to help him with his burden?"

I gave that a moment's consideration. I liked Robb well enough, but we also got under each other's skins and I couldn't imagine spending the rest of my life at his side. Still, if he needed help I would probably give it. "Sure. Yes, I mean. But I could help Robb just as much as a Maester too! Robb can be heir, Bran the spare, and I the adviser!"

He snorted at that, shaking his head. "It's not about having an 'heir and a spare' Eyron. That is a silly phrase. It is more a matter of you being too young to know what you would be giving up by taking those vows."

I made a face right back at him. It was times like this that it was so frustrating to still be thought of as a child. "Father, it's what I want. Truly. I know it."

Again he studied me for a long moment. "Why?"

I was taken aback at that simple question. I'd had all sorts of complicated answers and explanations in my head, but somehow that one word cut through them all. Because I wanted to get away from this frozen hell hole. Because I wanted civilization again. To be warm. But I couldn't say any of that.

"Because… because. You said it yourself. I'm no good at swords. I'm not like Robb." Bitterness welded up in my throat. "I don't want to be a lord. I don't want to spend my life in Winterfell. This is what I want. I'd be good at it. I'd make you proud." I threw out the last desperately, and realized it was true.

"Son." His eyes had a sad look to them, and I guessed he read some of what I had not said. Slowly he rested a hand on my shoulder. "Your mother and I are already proud of you."

I squirmed a bit awkwardly at that. The sentiment was nice, but it wasn't an answer. "I know father. But this is what I want."

He heaved a sigh at that. "I'm sorry, Eyron. I can not allow it."

I was slightly taken aback at this flat refusal. A pit in my stomach as he crushed my hopes with just a few words. But I refused to just back down and accept it. "No… father… listen… I can do it."

He held up a hand, cutting off my protests. "No Eyron."

I grit my teeth. I'd learned early in this world you didn't argue with Lord Stark when he made a final declaration like that. But I felt my stubborn nature rising up. He didn't get to just say no like that.

"Why not?" I ground out.

Despite the situation something of a fond smile came across his face. "You've a bit of the wolf's blood in you. And your mother's stubbornness. But the answer is still no."

He turned more serious as he pressed on. "What are our words, Eyron?"

I ground my teeth again. Why couldn't he give a straight answer? What did this have to do with me being a Maester? I would have thought a father would be happy at seeing his son have an ambition? He continued to stare at me waiting for an answer.

"Winter is Coming." I finally ground out.

He nodded. "Winter is coming. And it will come whether you are in the North or the South. It is my duty, as your father, to see you prepared for winter. If you came to me as a grown man, knowing the consequences of this decision, you would have had my blessing. You are cunning, smart, loyal. You would make a strong Maester and a great adviser to any lord."

"Than… than why not now?"

His face took on that solemn cast again. "Because right now you would be running from your problems, not shouldering your burdens. I know you are unhappy at times, son. But I cannot allow you to learn to avoid your problems. They will simply follow you if you do. Like it or not, you are of the North. Learn what that means, and then if you still wish to go to the Citadel, I will allow it."

This was so frustrating. I didn't know what to do. "But… but how! What does that mean?"

At that he got to his feet, looking down at me with consideration. "We will see. I must talk with your mother. But it may be time to try something different."

That sounded suitably ominous. I had horrified visions in my head of some sort of medieval boot camp for problem children. But no matter how much I pushed him, he would not answer me further.

—

I was playing with the peas on my plate, lost in my own thoughts. In the days since my confrontation with father, life had fallen back into its' usual routine. At first I'd been angry and frustrated, but as time passed the daily grind had mellowed those feelings. Now I was back to reading in the library, lessons with Maester Luwin, and being unwillingly dragged to the practice yard at least once a day.

"You shouldn't play with your food! Mother says!" I grinned as Sansa interrupted my thoughts. My little sister was only five, but she was already a proper little lady. It was adorable.

"Ohh? I shouldn't? Are you sure?" I feigned confusion. "But in the Empire of Yi-Ti, it is considered the height of lordly manners." I began to mush the peas on my plate. "It is considered horrible luck and bad form to not take the time to appreciate your food!"

Sansa looked adorably dubious at that, but began to dutifully poke at her own peas. Behind her back, little Arya was snickering.

Mother sent me a stern look. "Eyron. Don't tease your sister." A look to Sansa. "And don't play with your food."

Under her watchful gaze I began to dutifully eat my peas again, sending Sansa a quick smile to assure that there was no hurt feelings.

Usually we had dinner in the Great Hall, but tonight we were in the private solar. The only down side of the more intimate setting was that we were very much under Mother's eyes. Especially poor Jon, who looked like he was trying to hide at the end of the table. Honestly, I suspected half the reason father usually had us eat in the Great Hall was just him taking pity on Jon.

As the last of the plates were cleared, Robb jumped to his feet an innocent expression on his face. "Father, can we be excused?"

Father nodded, but before Robb could bolt from the room, our mother interrupted him. "I need you to watch your brother for a few hours."

Robb made a face as he glanced at our baby brother. "But… Theon and I were going to go explore the First Keep…"

Father shook his head. "Those ruins are no place for Bran, he is far too young."

"They are no place for you either, Robb!" Our mother interrupted with a sharp tone before turning back to father. "I swear Ned, we should have the entire tower torn down. It's a hazard."

Robb, seeing his chance, hastened to reassure our parents. "We weren't going to do anything dangerous, Theon found a secret cellar is all! Can't Eyron watch Bran?"

Our parents exchanged an odd look, before Father turned back to Robb. "No, Eyron can't."

"I can watch him…" Jon trailed off as mother turned a frosty gaze on him. There was enough anger in that look to cause him sink down into his chair. Silently I tried to give him a look of support. While I understood why my mother disliked having proof of her husband's infidelity in the castle, that understanding didn't mean I liked how she treated him.

"No… no I'll watch him." Robb's voice had turned serious as he scooped baby Bran into his arms. I knew his abrupt about face was an attempt to shield Jon from our mother's anger.

Father gave a slow nod. "Than you're all excused."

Jon slunk out of the room at that, following behind Robb and Bran. Theon went off on his own as well, far less interested in Robb's company now that there would be a baby tagging along.

I was about to go join my sisters and Septa Mordane, I had the habit of telling them fun stories from my past life, when Father's voice cut in. "Eyron, bide here a moment."

"Ooooh… are you in trouble! What did you do?" Arya had a huge grin as she engaged in the time honored tradition of teasing a sibling.

"Arya!" My mother's sharp tone chased her from the solar.

But it did feel oddly like I had done something wrong. It was unusual for our parents to hold one of us back after dinner like this. I was trying to wrack my brain to think of what I might have done wrong, but coming up with nothing. My parents didn't help my nervousness by waiting until the room was empty and then exchanging a long look.

"Eyron." Mother hesitated a second before pressing on. "Sweet. Your Father and I have been talking. We know you've been having a difficult time lately, but you are no longer a little boy, and things need to change…"

She hesitated again. and so father entered the conversation, blunt as always. "We have decided you would benefit from a fostering."

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. They were acting like this was some horrible piece of news. Granted, the part of me that felt like a true seven year old was certainly a little insecure at being sent away. But still, this could work out as good as my plan to join the Citadel. Better maybe!

"No! I understand. It makes sense." A let a small excited smile come across my face. "I think it's a good idea! Do you think I could foster with the Hightowers?" That would put me rather close to the Citadel and its library. "Or maybe I could go to King's Landing?" I eyed father. "You were friends with the King, right? He'd let me?" King's Landing sounded like a fun city, and the capital had to have a decent sized library.

Am amused look flashed across my mother's face, she knew me too well. "No, Darling. We are not fostering you based on the size of the House's library."

Father was more grim. "And I would not send any son of mine to that cesspit of a capital." I resisted rolling my eyes. The North had some absurd bias against the capital and cities in general. Every mention of Kings Landing was about it being a cesspit of corruption. I'm sure it had some, but surely no worse than any other city?

"Well. If not King's Landing or House Hightower maybe… the Tyrell's? Or. What about with on the Arbor? Hornvale?" I started listing some of the southern houses I had read and fantasized about until the look in Father's face caused me to trail off.

"You misunderstand Eyron. We did not bring you here to discuss where you are to be fostered. That decision has already been made. I have written to Lord Umber asking him to foster you… and he has accepted."

"What!?" That burst from me in a shocked yell as I processed what they had said. Both of my parent's winced at my tone, but I didn't care. This couldn't be happening. Of every nightmare scenario I had envisioned, this was the worst. Not only was I not going south… but I was going further north! I'd read enough of the Umbers and their home to know that it made Winterfell seem warm. This couldn't be happening.

"No! I won't. You can't make me." I knew I was sounding like a winging child, but I couldn't bring myself to care.

"It is done, Eyron." Father sighed as he saw the stubborn cast to my face, running a weary hand through his beard. "I know it can be difficult, but this is for the best. I was only a year older than you myself when I was first fostered. I didn't want to go then either, if you can believe it? I argued with my Lord Father for weeks. But it was the best decision he ever made. Jon Arryn became like a second father to me, and Robert like a brother."

I shot him an unimpressed look. "I know I'm old enough to be fostered. I don't mind the fostering, but the Umbers? They're practically savages. I'd hate it there!"

Father's voice was a whip, interrupting me. "You will watch your tone, Eyron. The Greatjon is a loyal bannerman and friend to House Stark. I will not have you disrespect him or his name."

I squirmed uncomfortably. Why was I feeling guilty when this absurd situation was his fault? Desperately I glanced at my mother for support. She avoided my gaze as she spoke. "I know this is difficult, but your father and I agree. It is for the best. And you will be close at least, far closer than Oldtown, and you can still visit."

I wasn't upset that it was too far from Home! It was too close was the problem. And in the wrong direction. I was pulling at straws now, but not ready to give in.

"Maybe… what if… what if I fostered at Riverrun? With Grandfather? He raised you, surely he could do the same for me? He is family, shouldn't I stay with family?" Riverrun wouldn't have been my first choice, but I'd take it any day of the week over the frozen Umbers.

Mother hesitated for a second at that. I could see she was tempted. "Ned…"

But my father shook his head again, firmly. "No. It is already decided. Lord Hoster is a fine man. But he is not what you need, son."

I gnashed my teeth in anger. Embarrassingly, I felt my eyes getting hot in frustration, and I clenched them to get my emotions under control. I bottled the childish urges to yell about running away or refusing. Where could I run to? What could I do? I was trapped here.

Suddenly father was kneeling before me, resting a hand on my shoulder and tilting me so I was forced to look at him. "I know this is difficult. Not what you wanted. But remember what we discussed? Our house words, Eyron?"

"Winter is coming." I mumbled under my breath.

He nodded. "Yes. And I know of no better man to prepare you for that than Jon Umber." He inclined his head ever so slightly. "He is a good man. And more cunning than you give him credit. It is not an easy thing for a father too entrust his child to another. But he has my trust. And this will be good for you. I hope when all is done you will see that."

"I won't" I growled stubbornly.

A small smile flickered across his face and was gone. "As you will, my stubborn wolf." He got to his feet at that. "But it is done. I will leave you to let your siblings know."

Mother rushed to fill the void of silence that followed that, going on about the things I would need to pack and how I'd have to write every week when I arrived.

I took a deep breath as reality started to settle in. This was happening. It still seemed surreal. Hesitantly, I looked up. "When… when do I go?"

Mother gave a smile at that, likely pleased I seemed to be coming around. I wasn't, but I knew when it was hopeless to argue.

Father though, gave it a long moment of consideration. "A fortnight. Enough time for you to say your goodbyes and prepare… and for the Umber's to prepare for you."

A fortnight. Two weeks. Two weeks and I would be leaving Winterfell behind. I'd wanted that for so many years, but now that it was here I had a sneaking suspicion I was going to regret ever wishing for it.

A/N: Well. Hope you liked this chapter. And hopefully this gives people a better sense of where the fic is going and where the title comes from. Kudos to those of you who guessed. Also, I know I totally made up the "solar" in Winterfell. But I figured it made sense. No way they eat in the Greathall *every* day. Right? And if nothing else, I figured Ned and Cat would want a slightly more intimate setting to share this news.

Also, I know some folks are complaining about the main character being a 'wimp' or 'weak.' Well, all I can say is that this was a deliberate choice on my part. Not that he is weak, but that he comes across that way at this point of the story. I've always felt most people from a (comparatively) soft middle class western culture would struggle much more adjusting to Westeros than the average SI story portrays. And part of the arc of this story is to start Eyron off at Point A and then eventually see how he changes and grows. If he started off a badass northerner, there would be no story!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I'd only been here one night, but Last Hearth was already living up to all of my fears. I'd spent the last fortnight begging, cajoling, and raging at my parents. It was childish of me I know, but it was the only tool I had at my desperate disposal. I half suspected my mother was close to caving under my tantrum, but it was all for naught. My father had been as unmoving as ice.

Just thinking about it caused my body to tense with frustration, but all my anger had been for naught. And so I'd found myself saying goodbye to Winterfell, Maester Luwin, my brothers and sisters, and heading north with only a small squad of Winterfell guards.

There was some irony to it, I could admit. All those months and years of wishing to leave Winterfell? I should have been more careful what I wished for. The journey north had been wretched enough. Half the time we slept in small inns and holdfasts with scratchy beds and drafty windows. The other half we slept on the hard ground with only a campfire for warmth.

When we finally laid eyes on Last Hearth, my worst expectations had been confirmed. We'd arrived late in the night, with little greeting but some bread and water and an escort to our rooms. Yet I could tell already it was a grim and cold keep. Yes, I was definitely missing the comforts of Winterfell, something I had not thought I would ever say.

A ray of light was shooting through the window into my eye, but I ignored it for the moment, huddling down further under the furs on my bed. There was just enough blankets and furs that I was warm in the bed, but I could also tell how freezing cold it was going to be the moment I threw them off. There was a small hearth in the room, but not enough to warm it. Whatever amenities Last Hearth might have, one thing it surely lacked was the warm water of Winterfell pumped through its walls.

Finally with a groan I rolled out of the bed, heaving the furs aside. It was as cold as I expected, and I hopped around the room in urgency to get dressed. There was a basin with water placed on a side table for me. I noticed with a grimace of disgust that there was actually a film of ice across the top. Breaking it, I completed my morning ablutions in record time, shivering as I exited the frigid little room.

No one had given me any instructions the night before, and I figured that meant I was being left to my own devices. So of course, my first action was to find the library. In Winterfell that had always been my sanctuary.

Stopping at the open door I had been directed to, I gave a hesitant knock and then peered inside. Instead of the Maester I had expected, there was some gaunt old man. I studied him for a moment. He had no Maester's collar, though there was a book open in front of him.

He must have sensed me somehow, because he looked up, flinty eyes meeting mine. "What? Boy? What are you standing there for?"

"Umm…" There was something about the man that was kind of intimidating. "Apologies Ser. I was looking for the Maester."

He gave a grunt. "Ser? None of that Southron nonsense here." Those eyes sharpened, studying me. "You're the Stark boy?"

I grimaced. Not surprising he guessed who I was, there had to be rumors of my coming here. "Yes…" I cut myself before I could drop another 'ser.' "I was looking for the Maester, I must have taken a wrong turn."

Another grunt. "No wrong turn. We don't bother with Maesters. More Southron nonsense. I keep the ravens and the books."

"Ahh…"

He slammed his hand down on the table with a sharp crack, eyes narrowing at me. "Stop with the hemming and hawing boy. In." He motioned sharply with his hand. "Now."

I blinked. I couldn't remember anyone ever speaking that bluntly to me since I'd been reborn in this world. Hesitantly I entered the small room. Eyes darting around to take in the small desk and the couple of bookshelves.

The old man ran a hand through his long white beard. "Well? Out with it. What do you want, boy?"

"Ahh…" his eyes narrowed at my stammering, and I forced myself to continue in a rush. "That is. Just looking for the library. To get a book."

"Mmm." He studied me again for a long moment. He was surprisingly intimidating for such an old man. "My nephew warned me you were bookish. Still. Didn't expect Stark to sire such a sniveling lump."

I felt a flare of temper at that. As much frustration as anger. "And I didn't expect Lord Umber's men to be so rude." The words spilled out before I could think, and I instantly regretted them. What a horrible first impression

The old man actually gave out a huff of laughter though, and looked rather pleased. "So, not entirely without teeth, eh?"

Desperately, I took a deep breath to try and get myself under control. With my luck, this guy would be some half-senile peasant who would lash out if provoked. Another deep breath and I put on my best 'lord's face.' The same one I had seen father use when on official business.

Then I forced a smile that only felt a little bit like a grimace. "I don't know what this 'nephew' has told you. And I am sorry for interrupting you. It was certainly not my intention to disturb your repast. As you noted, I am new to the keep. If you could provide some guidance, I would be most grateful."

He frowned again at that, jabbing a finger at my face. "And that's why you were sent here. If I wanted milk-sweet words, I'd find a whore. Speak plainly or don't speak at all."

The smile fell off my face as I glared at the finger between my eyes. "The. Library." I ground out through gritted teeth. "I'm looking for the library."

He leaned back at that, and gestured with his hands to the two bookshelves along the wall. "This is the library. Take what you want."

I stared at him aghast. This was the library? I'd assumed it was the Maester's study. Or well. Someone's study. There couldn't be more than two dozen books along the wall. Half of them titles I could recognize and had already read.

"This… this is the library?'

My stomach plummeted as he nodded his head. Not only was I stuck in the middle of nowhere, but what was I supposed to do with no real library?

The old man seemed amused at my expression. Even a hint sympathetic, though that was probably my imagination. "Not much to look at, eh? Might be I'll lend you some of my own books."

I shot the man an incredulous look. What sort of book's could this guy have? He looked a cross between a peasant and some grizzled man-at-arms that had seen one too many battles. Half savage as well.

Some of my thoughts must have shown on my face, because the amusement faded away and he was scowling at me again. "Or might not lend you anything. Seems to me, your problem is too many books."

I scowled right back. "How am I supposed to have my lessons if this is the library?"

I had been talking more to myself than the man, but he answered anyway. "I'll see to any lessons you need."

I gave him an incredulous look. "You?"

He gave a snort at that. "Don't give me that look boy. I studied in the Citadel in my youth."

"I… see…" I really didn't.

"I see to the lessons for my family and everyone else here. Mind, from what my nephew has said you don't need more book lessons. Lessons of another sort maybe."

That sounded suitably ominous. And his nephew again? "You're nephew?'

His flinty eyes took on a look of what might have been amusement at that. "Aye. My nephew. Jon."

Jon? He couldn't mean… "The Greatjon?"

Yes, he was definitely amused. "So they call him. Mind, I can remember when the boy only came to my knees."

Shit. Was this old man actually the uncle of the Greatjon? The lord of the keep I was staying in? I was regretting my earlier rudeness. Hesitantly I tried again. "My Lord…"

He cut me off with a sharp gesture. "I'm no lord, boy." He was frowning again. "Aye, I can definitely see why your father sent you here."

I gritted my teeth and stayed silent. Partly because I didn't know what to say, partly because I suspected I'd regret whatever came out of my mouth.

After a long moment, the old-man gave another nod. "As I thought. No. No book lessons for you just yet, boy. You'd best find my nephew first."

I couldn't afford to piss off an Umber on my first day here. Don't piss off the Umbers. I kept repeating that in my head to keep my temper in check. "And where can I find Lord Jon?"

He gave a shrug. "Go to the Hearth, boy. He'll be there, or someone who knows where to find him will." And with that, he turned from me back to the book on the table. A clear dismissal.

The Hearth was easy to find. And to feel. It was clear the entire keep had been built around it's hearth, and as soon as you entered you were assaulted with a wave of heat. If the rest of the Umber's castle was cold and dreary, the Hearth was a blazing furnace.

In truth, it was more like a dozen hearths in one giant room. In size, it actually dwarfed Winterfell's Great Hall, and was clearly the hub of the entire fortress. It wasn't really a meal time, but there were dozens of people milling around it. Older women in one corner knitting, others tending to a large stew pot. Children and dogs running around the tables. There were a half dozen clusters of men having small semi-private meals across the room.

It was a welcome change to the rest of the keep that was dreary and cold. Despite often preferring my solitude, I felt myself relaxing as I walked through the doors.

I was there only a moment, when a boy came running over to me. He looked to be about my age, but it was hard to tell for sure as he stood head and shoulders above me.

The strange boy studied me for a moment as I awkwardly observed him back. Finally, head tilted to one side, he spoke up. "Are you Eyron Stark?"

Hesitantly I nodded my agreement, and a giant smile lit up his face. "I'm Ned. Ned Umber."

I couldn't help but snort at his father's name choice. Could the sucking up be any more obvious?

Despite my snort Ned didn't seem offended though, and his grin widened. "I know right? That must be weird for you. I know everyone is always mixing up father and my brother."

That confused me. "Your brother?"

He pointed to a giant of a man off towards one corner of the Hearth. "He's named Jon too. Like father. But everyone calls him Smalljon"

I sent Ned an incredulous look. "Small?" Even from this distance I could tell the guy was well over six feet tall.

He flashed me another grin. "Small compared to father anyway! Besides." He puffed out his chest. "Uncle Mors says I'm already taller than father *or* Jon were at my age."

I could well believe it, if this kid was actually my age.

Suddenly Ned threw a companionable arm over my shoulder, drawing me to a table. "So. Eyron! What's Winterfell like? Are the stories true?"

I tried not to stiffen in surprise at the easy intimacy. "Ahh. Well. What stories?"

"They say the whole castle is warm! Warmer than the Hearth even! And that giants built it with Brandon the Builder. And it's the strongest castle in the whole North!"

I blinked at that sudden onset. "Well. I mean. I don't know about the giants. But it is warm. There's hot water pumped through all the rooms."

Ned looked suitably impressed at this information, and I found myself relaxing slightly. "You're so lucky to have grown up there! When I'm older, father says he will take me to see it. And the Wall."

"The Wall would be interesting to see…" I hesitantly offered. I mean, I had never wanted to go that far north. But you had to admit it would be kind of cool to see one of the wonders of this world.

"I know right! I want to visit the Wall and go into the Haunted Forest!" His eyes lit up. "Hunt the Wildings down, like my father and brothers."

I gave a hesitant nod at the avowed wish to murder a bunch of strangers. I never quite understood the anger at Wildings some Northerners professed. I suppose if I was back in college still, it would be labeled as some form of cultural prejudice?

Ned took my hesitation in stride though, and kept on yammering a mile a minute. "It's so amazing you're here! I know we're going to be friends."

I blinked again at this. I'd always been pretty isolated from my brothers in Winterfell, and there really weren't many other kids my age to socialize with. And that was without getting into the whole weirdness of the memories from my other life.

Some of my surprise must have shown on my face, because Ned finally trailed off looking embarrassed and awkward. "I mean. That is. If you want to be friends."

Man. The kid looked like a kicked puppy. "Ahh. Course I do! I just… never had many friends before."

God that sounded lame. I felt my face flood with heat. Ned though, lit right back up. "Me neither! I'm the youngest, all my brothers are older. They always get to ride out to visit the villages or fight the Wildings, and I'm stuck behind."

"Ahh." I tried to think of something to say. "That sucks?"

He nodded vigorously. "Yeah." He cocked his head. "Do you want to…" He trailed off.

I followed his eyes and saw the Greatjon approaching. I'd only met the lord briefly last night, but there was no mistaking the giant of a man. He had to be close to seven feet of towering muscle, fur and leather.

He was an intimidating figure to say the least, but since I was stuck living in his keep for the time being, it was best to be polite. I forced a smile on my face. "My Lord."

He scowled at me. "Boy."

Ned smiled up at him despite the scowl. "Father! Eyron was telling me about Winterfell…"

The Greatjon interrupted him with a grunt. "Good. Glad you're making friends." He squinted down at me and the frown returned. "Boy. Follow me."

With that he turned on his heels, marching from the Hearth. With no real choice I hurried after him, half breaking into a run to keep up with his strides. Ned followed along behind us.

As we exited the building, a draft of cold air assaulted us, all the more frigid after the warmth of the Hearth Room. Assembled in the courtyard were the riders from Winterfell that had escorted me to the keep. The Greatjon came to a stop in front of them, and so I paused at his heels.

The silence stretched on for a long moment before the Greatjon finally turned down to me, impatience in his voice. "Well?"

I blinked back up at him. "My Lord?"

One of the Winterfell guardsmen stepped forward. I recognized him as Jory, he'd been given command of the squad. Which I supposed was a sign of my importance or something. Even I had heard the rumors that he was tapped to become the next captain of the guard in Winterfell. "Lord Eyron." He gave me a wry smile. "We're to depart."

I blinked back at him in confusion. Why was he telling me this? To be honest, I was somewhat surprised he hadn't already left. "Ahh. Alright."

Lord Umber turned to me at that, anger on his face. "Alright? Is that all you have to say boy? To your own men who saw you here safe?"

I took a half step back from the sheer anger on his face. What was he talking about? "Ahh… umm…" I trailed off.

Scowling, the Greatjon turned back to Jory. "We'll keep the boy safe enough. You tell Ned I'll set him straight." He paused and nodded as some servants came forwards carrying packs. "Food and supplies for the journey back."

Jory inclined his head. "We thank you for your hospitality Lord Umber." He turned to me then. "You will be well Eyron? Any message for your parents?"

Glumly I shook my head. I wanted to go back with them… but I knew that was off the table. It would hardly help my stay here to say that wish out loud. "No."

The Greatjon was glaring at me again. What did he want? "Safe travels?" I ventured, half asking as opposed to saying.

Jory flashed an amused smile at that. "Indeed. We'd best be off before the daylight is gone." He turned back to the Greatjon. "We thank you again for the hospitality."

Jory and the Greatjon exchanged a few more pleasantries, and then the Stark contingent turned and rode off. We stayed watching them until they dwindled from sight.

Only then did the Greatjon turn to me, a frown on his face. "Boy, that was ill done."

"My Lord?" I was proud that I only stammered a little bit. It was damn intimidating to have that giant looming over you.

"A man needs to see to the needs of those under him, or he has no right to command. We're not Southron lordlings. You owe it to your men not to take them for granted. Ned?" He snapped, turning to his son.

Ned straightened to attention, speaking up quickly. "A Lord must care for his men. And for his guests. See they are supplied. Their equipment cared for. Show they are valued. A lord who can't care for his men is no lord at all."

His father nodded, turning back to me. "Those men saw you here safely. And if I hadn't fetched you, would you even have known they were gone?" His face twisted into disgust. "You're my ward. That means you represent Last Hearth now."

Why was he making such a big deal over this? I didn't understand, but knew better then to argue. "Yes, Lord Umber."

He snorted, leaning over me. "I see why your father sent you here." Why did everyone keep saying that to me?

"To think that a Stark would act as such…" The last was mumbled to himself, but loud enough for me to clearly hear.

I scowled down at my feet, feeling my face heat in embarrassment and anger. Ned shot me a sympathetic look, but that only made it worse somehow.

The Greatjon gave yet another grunt. "Nothing to say? Fine. You're coming with me then."

I'd been hoping to slink off. That sounded ominous. "With you? Where?"

"Lessons, boy. All day with me. Your father entrusted you to me. Its about time we started educating you."

I eyed him warily. I didn't want to judge, but the blustering giant of a man hardly looked like the sort to be teaching lessons. "Lessons?" I hesitantly ventured. "Your… your uncle said he managed your library?" There, I didn't even choke when calling their pathetic collection of books a 'library.'

The Greatjon must have seen something in my face though, as he gave a grim smile. "Met Hother have you? No, you ain't going to the library. I figure you've had enough of that sort of learning. You're coming to the yard."

I grimaced, but couldn't say I was completely surprised. From what I'd seen, the entire North was obsessed with fighting. I had figured I wouldn't be able to avoid more training here. Still, maybe it could be brief. "For… for how long?"

The Greatjon's smile took on a nasty curl, and I found myself taking a half step back. "Why… however long it takes boy. However long it takes…"

A/N: Well there you have it. The next chapter probably marks the 'low' point for poor Eyron (it will be ugly… I warn you now) and then of his starting to adjust to life in the North. Not that he won't still have challenges, but the next chapter is sort of the nadir and the "U" turn of the early story. I'm kind of excited for it too, since it is also the scene that mentally inspired me to write this whole thing. Also, I should note. The next chapter is the last of my 'pre-written' ones that I was posting up every week. I think the reaction to this story has been positive enough, and I have enough of it plotted out, that I will continue to write it. But after next week, folks should probably expect updates to be a bit more sporadic as I want to focus on finishing my other story.

Also, as a side note. Obviously northern houses often have Maesters. Hother saying otherwise was just his griping. But considering his backstory of being trained in the Citadel, I thought it might be a nice touch to have house Umber not bother with a full Maester and just use him.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The yard at Last Hearth was much the same as the yard at Winterfell, and it was with the same trepidation that I buckled on my familiar armor and picked up my familiar practice sword.

The Greatjon was looking on from the sidelines, along with what felt like half of House Umber. It made me even more uncomfortable than normal.

Finally, a giant lumbering old man made his way over to me. He stank of sweat and beer, and he leered over me with a chunk of glass for one of his eyes. I found myself drawing back further from the intimidating sight, which of course only caused him to sneer down at me more.

"So, you're the Stark boy?" He spat to his left, a look of disgust on his face as he loomed over me. Was everyone in this damn castle a giant?

"Ahh. Yes Ser."

The scowl deepened. "No Sers here, boy."

I shrunk back another half step, bumping into Ned. Ned gave a smile, somehow managing to grin up at the giant. "Uncle Mors! This is Eyron."

The scowl lessened a hair as he regarded my friend. "So I see. Well. Lets see what the Starks have managed to teach him."

He took a step back and motioned at us to begin. Somehow, this felt even worse than practice at Winterfell. There, everyone knew how much I sucked. There was no one new to disappoint. But here, I could see the waiting and judging looks. The expectations the watchers had of a Stark.

My back itching from all the stares, I hesitantly stepped towards Ned trying to remember some of the lessons old Rodrik was always droning on about. Ned gave me a small smile and a nod, and then we were beginning.

I gave a hesitant swipe at Ned with the sword. Next thing I knew, before I could even blink, I was in the mud with my sword knocked out of my hands.

Around us, I could hear murmurs and even a small snicker.

Ned came to a halt over me, blinking down in surprise. Hesitantly, he offered me a hand up. "Are you alright Eyron?"

I got to my feet, grabbing the practice sword and avoiding his eyes. I usually felt embarrassed at sword training, but this was the first time I felt acutely ashamed. My brothers knew how bad I was with the sword, and thus they had low expectations. There was something about the sheer shock and surprise on Ned's face that made me feel uncomfortable.

I didn't have time to process that before Mors was between us again, stale breath wafting over me. "What was that boy?"

I mumbled something non-committal, my eyes downcast.

Ned gave me a small nudge. "Sorry Eyron. Didn't mean to surprise you like that…"

From the sidelines, I heard the Greatjon thumping his fist to his chest. "That all you got Stark?"

Mors gave a grunt, stepping back. "Again."

Ned gave me a reassuring smile and came forwards. Slower this time, clearly intent on giving me a chance to respond.

I lasted ten seconds and then I was in the mud again, scrambling desperately for the sword. This time, the snickers from the crowd were not subdued, and I distinctly heard the Greatjon's booming laugh.

Blushing, I got to my feet. Ned was looking at me incredulously. "Are… are you alright Eyron?"

The sheer shock in his voice had me feeling humiliated. This was _*much*_ worse than Winterfell. Worse, after this I had a feeling Ned, the one friendly face I'd met here, would want nothing more to do with me. I hated Last Hearth. Hated it. I felt my eyes prickling and scrubbed at the grime on my face as I desperately tried to get my emotions under control.

Then Mors Umber was in front of me again. "You, boy, are a disgrace."

Surprisingly, his dismissive words helped me get my emotions back under control as I scowled back up at him.

Mors sneered right back down at me before turning to Ned and motioning for him to move away. "Don't waste your time with this one Ned. Go spar with your brothers or your father."

He waited until Ned had taken a few steps back before turning to me, "You know what I see, boy? A coddled little southerner. Do you even try? I know your father, and to think he would have a son like you?"

This drunk bastard was officially becoming my least favorite of all the Umbers. Not an easy task to achieve. I scowled right back at him.

"Ohh? Angry are you? Well. Lets see your teeth then…"

I had only a moment to be incredulous. Was he coming at me? He was an adult. How was I supposed to do anything against him?

These thoughts flashed through my head in a moment, and then I was on the ground yet again. Splattered in still more mud, looking up at the looming Mors.

"As I thought. Useless. On your feet boy!"

I scrambled to my feet, only for him to knock me back down once more.

"No. I changed my mind. Stay in the mud."

I looked up at him with disbelief. Never in all my training had Ser Rodrik dared to treat me like this. This was insane. I wasn't a fool, I knew I was sent here to 'toughen me up' by my father. But even he couldn't approve of this rough treatment!

Why was no one coming and putting a stop to this? My eyes flickered to the Greatjon, but he just had his arms crossed watching the proceedings. Surely they were going to stop this madness? What sort of training was slapping me around going to be?

I turned back to stare up from the mud at Mors Umber. Behind his back I saw Ned looking at me with some sort of mix of pity and sympathy. The Umber men-at-arms watching were snickering and cracking jokes. It made my stomach burn to see.

Finally, Mors started to turn away and I began to scramble to my feet.

Then there was a blaring pain in my side, as I literally went flying back into the mud puddle.

Confused, I glanced up trying to understand what had happened, only to see Mors standing over me again. The bastard had kicked me as I was getting to my feet. I could feel the bruise blossoming across my side.

He spat at my feet. "I told you to stay there boy."

I gritted my teeth and tried to answer this maniac politely. "I'm sorry. I thought the training was done."

"Training never started. I don't train whiny little whelps. Your father was a great man, but I suppose every litter has a runt. Seems to me, the only place you've earned is that…" he gestured to the puddle of mud I was laying in.

And I felt something inside me snap. All I'd endured since being reborn here. The humiliation. The dismissal. I felt a cold anger forming in the pit of my stomach as I climbed to my feet, glaring at the man.

He slammed a fist into my stomach and I bent over double, stars in my eyes as I desperately tried to catch my breath.

"You're going to stay on your knees, boy. Where you belong. Till I tell you to get up."

I scowled up at him, trying to set him on fire with my eyes.

But I also felt something hardening inside of me. My innate stubbornness. Back in my previous life, my parents had called it my tendency to 'cut my nose off to spite my face.' Even here, Ned Stark had more than once noticed my stubborn streak.

It was insane. But I was damned if I was going to let this asshole grind me down.

I climbed to my feet again. "Bastard."

He backhanded me this time. I was on my knees again, the copper taste of blood in my mouth.

"Seems to me, boy, of the two of us you're the one whose parentage we should be questioning. You sure you are a Stark?"

My hands tightened around the tourney sword on the ground besides me. This time, when I stood up, I stood up swinging with all my strength.

He deflected the blow, almost contemptuously, with his armored left arm. The right shoved me back down again.

I got to my feet again.

Another punch to the stomach, driving the air from my lungs.

Again.

He swept my legs from under me contemptuously.

Again.

This time he simply bowled right over me, sending me sprawling.

Every bone in my body ached, and I felt like one big bruise. I was bleeding from my busted lip. Maybe elsewhere. And I'd never been so angry in my life. A cold anger of frustration, but it still burned all rational thought aside. My hair stood on end I was so enraged, and I could feel the anger blazing inside me.

I got to my feet again.

He sneered as he closed the distance. "Incompetent and dim too. You don't learn."

I was too exhausted to even try to dodge the blow. But as soon as I was down, I was getting to my feet, glaring at him with all the hatred I could muster.

"Stay down boy, and it will end. You're hopeless and you know it. Stay down and I'll let you go rest in your precious library."

I was so angry, I wasn't even tempted. "Fuck you."

Down I went again. I had no plan. No goal. No way to win this. But I would be damned.

Slowly, painfully, I clambered to my feet yet again. My right eye had swollen shut, but I glared up at the bastard as best I could.

He took another step forward, and I braced myself for the next blow.

It didn't come.

For a second, I couldn't understand what was happening. I had gotten so caught up in taking the constant blows and climbing back to my feet. But Mors Umber just stood there with his arms crossed.

Suddenly, I heard a booming laugh from my right, and the Greatjon was striding across the field. He gave me a slap to the back that almost sent me sprawling to the ground again.

Mors gave me a level gaze, the anger that had been in twisting his face earlier completely gone. "He's still hopeless. No skill."

The Greatjon gave another booming laugh. "Skill can be taught. But he's got some wolf's blood in him after all. That can't be taught."

I was having a hard time processing this. Maybe it was the blows to the head? What the heck was going on? "What?"

Mors gave a grunt. "We heard a lot about you, boy. Had to see the truth for ourselves. I can teach you the sword, but I can't put a spine in your back."

Wait, what? "That… that was a test?"

The Greatjon was grinning. "Showed yourself a Stark!"

Mors gave another grunt. "Had my doubts. And you're still hopeless as fuck. But I can work with that."

Instead of relaxing at that, I felt another surge of anger through me. That had been some sort of test? Those assholes. I felt my hand tighten on the sword handle. If I could move, and if it had been a real sword, I might have been tempted to stab it right through the bastards.

Mors gave a small smile. "That's right. You be as angry as you want. Use that."

The Greatjon gave me another smack on the back that had me stumbling forward. "This is the North, boy. You can't afford to hesitate. Lose the sweet words and courtesies."

I glared daggers at his words, and Mors nodded. "Keep the anger."

Suddenly, the Greatjon turned solemn and sank to his knees, heedless of the mud and blood around him. He looked at me level in the eyes. "Boy. Eyron. Listen to me good. I made a promise to your father. But now I make one to you. I've seen what you're capable of. You hate me if you need to, I don't give two damns. But you are going to put in every ounce of effort into every lesson I give you. Even if I need to beat it out of you. Your father put a great trust in House Umber when he gave you to us. I won't let him down. But I won't let you down either. You give me the effort lad, and I'll see you have what it needs to live up to your name."

And like that, I felt the anger leave me. Like a blown out flame. I knew I should still be angry, but it was hard to maintain it amidst all this solemn talk. I honestly didn't know what to say to that. I knew abstractly the Starks were Lord's Paramount of the North. But I'd never really thought about what my role was in all of that.

The Greatjon gave me a knowing smile before heaving himself back to his feet. For a giant brute, he was surprisingly subtle. "If I didn't think you could handle it, I would send you back to Winterfell."

A part of me wanted to scream 'please yes, send me back. I can't handle it!' Honestly, it was almost enough to make me regret my stubborn anger of before. But another part of me couldn't help but swell in pride as he said I could handle it. It was crazy. Why was I pleased that this madman thought I could take a beating? It was irrational, but it was there.

Mors was snering down at me. "You can do it. Don't know if you will. I won't make things easy for you boy."

I sent the bastard a scowl right back. If I had to learn the damn sword, the first thing I was going to do was knock that asshole into the mud.

Mors suddenly let out a bark of laughter. "Damn it. Don't be giving me that black scowl boy, or I'll knock you into the mud again."

The Greatjon seemed to find it hilarious. "Best be careful uncle, that one has spirit."

Mors gave his head a shake and turned around. "Ned! Over here now."

My friend was there in an instant. "Uncle?"

"Take Eyron to Hother." And with that he gave my shoulder a gentle nudge, turning me around. "I'll be seeing you both here first thing in the morning."

I stumbled after Ned as we left the yard. With the tension and anger gone, I was suddenly feeling every ache and pain. I felt like one giant throbbing bruise. It was taking all of my effort to keep putting one foot in front of the other. I'd never wanted my bed so badly.

As though oblivious to my situation, Ned was chatting up a storm. "That was awesome! You were amazing."

I sent him an incredulous look. "Amazing? Being knocked into the mud?"

He gave a snort. "Yeah. You *REALLY* suck Eyron. I never saw anyone so bad with the sword. I thought you would be amazing, taught at Winterfell and all. But…"

I felt that embarrassed squirm in my stomach again at his words. "Well… my brothers are better. I never practiced much."

"Yeah… I can tell."

I gave him a look. And right then and there vowed I was going to do better.

He grinned. "Still. I never saw anyone stand up to uncle Mors like that."

I gave a weary shrug. "I lost my temper."

Another grin. "Yeah! It was awesome."

Finally, we made it to the 'library.' I recognized the room from before. Ned gave one quick knock and then we were inside.

Wearily, I let myself be led to a chair and plopped down.

Hother, the not-Maester I had met that morning, was observing me. Was it only this morning? It seemed like years ago.

Finally, he gave a small snort. "Looks like you got run over by a horse."

Ned snickered slightly. "No, it was Uncle Mors."

"Hmm." He gave me a long look. "And you're still with us, eh?"

Ned nodded again. "He did great. Well." Ned paused. "Actually he did horribly. But it was still impressive."

I eyed my friend as he went on about how awesome it was that I got beaten up. I was beginning to think all the Umbers were a bit off. I hoped it wasn't contagious.

Finally, Hother interrupted him. "Fine. Enough, boy. Why are you here?"

Ned nudged me, and I winced as he hit a bad bruise. But I took the hint and spoke up. "Your brother sent me over. Not sure why."

He stroked his beard at that. "You must have impressed him. Gods knows how."

He turned, rummaging through his shelves, and finally returning with a little clay pot. "Here. For the bruises."

Gingerly I opened the little pot. It smelled pungent, and who knew what was in it. But I was aching too much to care.

And a moment later I was sighing in relief. Whatever this stuff was, it really worked. I felt my muscles slowly relaxing, and I gingerly leaned back in the chair.

Hother shook his head. "Works well, eh? Don't get used to it. Stuff is expensive as hell. You'll be on your own tomorrow"

The pain fading, even just a little, was too pleasant for me to worry about the fact that I was apparently supposed to do this again the next day.

The old Umber seemed amused my face. Another snort, and he slid a book across the table. "Here. Read this one?"

I glanced at the title. "Annals of The Black Centaur?"

He nodded. "History of Lord Commander Orbert. A good read. From my own collection."

I felt a surprising surge of affection for the old guy. After the craziness of the day, it was good to have something familiar. And absurdly, I felt a bit ashamed for looking down on his earlier offer that morning.

Hesitantly, I picked up the book, opening the cover. "Thank you…"

He grunted. "Don't mention it."

Ned peered over my shoulder, making a face. "That looks really boring…"

Hother gave him a gentle cuff over the head. "You could do with some more boring books."

I ignored the two of them as they good naturedly argued, eyes on the book in front of me. But it was hard to keep my focus. With my pain fading somewhat, a bone tired weariness was setting into my bones. My last thought as my eyes drifted closed was I hoped tomorrow wouldn't be quite this exhausting.

A/N: And there you have it! Hopefully that flowed well. I'm about half done with the next chapter, so we may get that up in the next week or so. But no promises. The next chapter will jump a few months. The plan after that chapter is to have an even larger time skip. Basically, I want to focus on a few scenes and defining moments over the next few years as we see what shapes Eyron. I don't have the whole story mapped out like I do with my other fic, but I do know what I want to happen up until Robert appearing in Winterfell. Which will take quite a few chapters.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

My chest was heaving, sweat dripping down my brow, and my breathing ragged. I desperately tried to catch my breath as Mors Umber stalked around Ned and I, glaring and scowling at us both.

Three months of this. Every day. All day. Sometimes it felt like all there was to do in Last Hearth was fight, eat, and sleep.

"Hopeless. How you can spend so much time practicing and still be so useless?" I largely tuned out Mors' words. Three months experience had taught me he rarely had anything positive to say about anyone in the yard. I'd even watched him curse and mock the Greatjon.

Not that he was wrong, I was still useless, but even I could see the improvement since I first started. Even if most of that improvement was being better at taking a hit.

"Well?" His breath, reeking of sour ale, wafted between us. "You ladies rested enough?"

And that was our cue. Ned was moving towards me, the practice sword raised in his hand. I darted forward, sword meeting his in a wooden clang, muscles straining.

And, as always, I inevitably felt myself being pushed back. My sword being forced down. Ned was just too strong. The difference in our size too big.

Reflexively, I took a step back to try and clear some space. Then I realized what I had done. I felt my eyes widen. No. Not again. Damn it, not again. Desperately I tried to surge forward against Ned, but it was too late. I was off balance. Then he was inside my guard.

I felt the clang as he whacked me on knee, on side, and finally on the shoulder as I tripped and fell to the ground.

And just like that it was over. As always, with the fight done, Ned took a step back and offered me a hand.

Mors was stomping towards us, an angry scowl on his face. "What was that, boy? Tell me Eyron? What was that?"

I matched him scowl for scowl, but mostly I was angry at myself. "I messed up."

He sneered down at me. "Obviously you 'messed up' if you were sitting on the ground. What have I told you?"

I glowered, avoiding his eyes. "Always move forwards."

"Don't mumble boy. Are you some Southron maid? Say it again."

My scowl deepened. A few months in this backwater had brought home that there was no worse insult in Last Hearth than to be called Southron. Of course I knew there was nothing wrong about being from the south. Intellectually. But I had to admit after only a few months here, being called Southron was starting to grate on my nerves. I'd be damned if I was going to let them keep implying I was some summer-born fool.

Gathering my anger, I looked up, meeting the man's eyes. "Always move forwards."

His large bear-like hand gripped my shoulder. "Always. Move. Forwards." Each word was punctuated with a tug on my shoulder that had my whole body shaking like a rag doll.

The old man turned his eyes to rest on Ned. "Stand still?"

Ned obediently parroted the line drilled into us every day. "You're dead."

His eyes shifted to me. "Move backwards?"

I glumly resisted the urge to sigh. "You're dead."

And back to Ned. "The best defense?"

"Offense."

Back to me. "Dodging about?"

"Southron foolery."

He nodded, satisfied we remembered the mantra he drilled into us every day. "Eyron. You lost that fight the moment you stepped back. Ned had the momentum and you were dead."

Despite my better judgment, my frustration bubbled up and I couldn't help but argue. "But he's bigger than me! I needed to get some space. Ser Rodrick says…"

Mors cut me off with a raised hand. "I don't care what some 'Ser' says. I'm teaching you to fight like a man, not some Southron tourney fighter." I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at his description of Ser Rodrick, whom he clearly had never met.

Hesitantly Ned came to my defense. "I am bigger uncle Mors…"

The man crossed his arms and sneered at us both. "Bigger and stronger. So what? You think you won't ever fight someone bigger or stronger? The minute you back down you've lost. Dodging around? Getting 'space'? That's only putting off the inevitable."

I felt that frustration bubbling up again. "But if he's stronger…"

Mors cut me off. "No. Its momentum, not strength. You move forwards and you will win, no matter who is stronger."

He must have seen my disbelief, because for once he didn't urge us back to the fight. Instead he glanced across the yard, searching for something. Finally, his eyes landed on the massive form of the Smalljon. "Boy!"

Somehow the Smalljon knew that 'boy' referred to him and he lumbered over to us, a knowing half smile on his face. "Uncle?"

Mors grunted. "Boy. We need a demonstration."

Smalljon, whom I'd learned was surprisingly good natured and calm compared to most of the Umbers I has met, gave a wry head shake. "And why am I always the one picked on for these demonstrations?"

Mors face softened. Everyone had a soft spot for the Smalljon. "'Cause you're a giant lummox is why."

"Boy…" and this time I somehow knew the 'boy' was me. "Who is stronger. Me or Jon?"

I eyed them warily, sensing there was a trap in this. But the answer was obvious. "Jon." No one in Last Hearth was bigger or stronger than Smalljon Umber, excepting maybe the Greatjon himself.

Mors gave a slow nod. "Right. He's bigger. Stronger. Younger too. Just like Ned is to you. Remember that."

I was still puzzling out what Mors was driving at as he turned away from Ned and I to face the Smalljon, drawing the blunted sword the Umber men most commonly used in practice. His nephew gave his uncle a semi-resigned look and drew his own blade.

Just as it dawned on me that I was about to get to see Smalljon pound my taskmaster into the ground, they were both moving.

Almost too fast to watch they blurred across the yard. Steel clashed on steel in a resounding boom as they met in the middle.

For a long moment both men's swords were crossed, and I could see their muscles straining and their bodies heaving at each other. The Smalljon's superior strength was showing as he slowly forced his uncle's sword back.

Then Mors moved. Somehow. His body twisting forwards and suddenly he was inside the Smalljon's guard.

The Smalljon brought the pommel of his sword down on the old man's back, but the angle was clearly awkward and Mors took another step forward, his elbow flying out even as he brought the sword down again.

There was a resounding crack. And then I could see blood flying from the Smalljon's nose.

Jon stumbled back, desperately trying to keep his feet, but Mors was on him again, tourney sword swinging viscously. A few seconds later and Mors was standing over a prone Smalljon, looking down on the giant.

There was a moment of silence before the Smalljon let out a booming laugh, taking his uncle's proffered hand and hauling himself to his feet.

The giant gave his head a shake, blood and sweat flying everywhere. "You're slowing down old man. I almost had you there."

Mors grunted, but a small smile was on his face as he handed his nephew a rag to wipe the blood from his face. "Almost isn't worth shit."

Mors slapped the Smalljon on the back companionably one more time, before the big-man lumbered off towards the keep. Hopefully to do something about his nose.

He watched his nephew walk off wearing a proud half smile on his face, before turning back to us. Stale breath wafted across me again as he leaned in. "Well?"

I gave my shoulders a shrug, trying to act nonchalant. However, some of my awe at the fight must have shown on my face because that half smile came back. "Not bad for an old man, huh lads?"

Ned didn't even try to play it cool like I was, a huge grin on his face. "That was amazing uncle Mors! I can't believe you sent Jon flying."

Mors let a large hand rest on Ned's head, ruffling the hair slightly. "There's a lesson there for both of you. Strength helps. But it won't win you the fight on its own." He looked from Ned to me. "Or cost you the fight."

He paused for a long moment before addressing us both. "When did Jon lose that fight?"

Ned jumped in, still excited from the spectacle. "You smashed his nose! There was blood everywhere! It was amazing."

But I knew what the man was driving at, and quietly corrected Ned. "When you got in his guard. And then he stumbled. Moved backwards."

Mors gave a sharp nod of agreement. "Exactly. He was bigger and stronger. But the minute he stopped moving forwards I had him. Strength didn't matter then."

Mors gave us a moment to let that sink in before focusing in on me. "You take that to heart boy. In this yard you'll win some and you'll lose some. But you're never going to back down again."

I gave a slow nod. He was right. Clearly. Ser Rodrik had always stressed a balance of offense and defense. Parry and counter, flowing forwards and backwards. But really, what did he know? Ser Rodrik was of an age with Mors Umber, but somehow I couldn't see him sending the Smalljon flying. And there was no doubt I'd improved more in a few months with the Umbers, frozen wasteland that it was, then I had in years at Winterfell.

Silently I resolved, win or lose, I'd never lose the momentum again. If moving forwards let you send a man like the Smalljon flying, I'd never back down in a fight again. No matter what.

Mors must have seen something on my face. He gave a low grunt. "Good. We're done for the day."

Done and the sun still in the sky? Wow, the old bastard was feeling generous.

At my side Ned let out a whoop. "Yes! C'mon Eyron!"

Ned took off at a run, pausing only long enough to deposit his armor and sword back in the armory as I trailed after him.

I knew we were heading towards the Godswood. While at Winterfell worship was left to individual preference and I had mostly avoided the Godswood, in Last Hearth expectations were different. You did *not* finish your day without spending a few minutes before a heart tree. It wasn't that the gods were taken lightly in Winterfell, so much as the Umbers had much more specific expectations. I still remembered the Greatjon's scandalized look when he first realized I tended to avoid the Weirwood forest.

Though truth be told, I didn't mind the Godswood so much these days. I still felt faintly ridiculous sitting in front of a carved tree, but it was also the only moment of real solitude I got at Last Hearth. Unlike Winterfell, there was no private library or silent nooks and crannies. Other than when I was sleeping in my cold, narrow, little room… every minute of the day was spent in the practice yard or the chaotic noise of the Hearth. About the only time I had with my own thoughts was in the Godswood. So perhaps it wasn't surprising that the Godswood had grown on me slightly.

My musings were interrupted by Ned shoving an elbow in my side to get my attention. "Could you believe that, Eyron? Uncle Mors treated Jon like a rag-doll!"

I shot him a grin, more comfortable after the last few months in bantering with my friend. "Yeah. Can't wait until I'm doing that to you!"

"Hah!" Ned matched my grin. "In your dreams Stark!"

Our joking was cut off as we entered the clearing where the Heart Tree stood, both of us falling appropriately silent. The Heart Tree at Last Heart was carved in a similar 'style' to the one in Winterfell, but yet looked completely different. Unlike the more sombre face at Winterfell, the tree of Last Hearth always seemed to have a certain fierceness to it. A look of anger and pride in its' eyes.

Or that could just be my imagination I supposed. I certainly had spent enough hours staring at the carving for my imagination to be acting up.

I pushed all these thoughts from my head, just trying to relax. To enjoy the silence in the woods after the chaos and noise of the yard.

I wasn't sure how much time passed. Finally though, Ned looked up getting my attention. A pensive thought on his face. "Eyron. You think the gods can hear us? And answer our prayers?"

I eyed him. No I didn't think the trees could hear us. But that didn't seem like a smart thing to say. Instead I gave a shrug. "I don't know. Why ask me?"

He flashed me a quick smile. "You're smart! I bet you've read more than uncle Hother even."

I felt myself flush slightly at his easy compliment. "Books don't talk much about the old gods." Which was true, most books on religion in Westeros tended to focus on the Seven.

Ned considered that a moment. "Uncle Hother says the gods talk to us if we know how to listen. That's why you always feel different in the Godswood. But they don't always answer our prayers."

I gave a small shrug. Ned was right that the Godswood always had a different feel from a regular Forrest. Heavier. More solemn. But I always figured that was just conditioning based on how everyone in the North treated them. "Maybe. What were you praying for?"

It was Ned's turn to look embarrassed, and I realized that was probably a pretty personal question. "Nothing special. Just. Well."

I gave a head shake and let him off the hook. "It's alright."

Another long moment of silence. "Hey Eyron, Uncle Hother is taking me with him to visit some trapper friends of his tomorrow. Want to come?"

I hesitated. Normally nothing would appeal to me less than traipsing through a forest wilderness. But I had to admit after the last few months the thought of taking a break from all the sword play and the long days in Last Hearth actually sounded appealing. "How long?"

Ned smirked, sensing I was considering it. "Just a couple of days. C'mon. It will be lots of fun Eyron."

I hesitated, hoping I wouldn't regret this. But the thought of seeing something besides the practice yard and my narrow room was appealing. Besides, a couple of days couldn't be too bad. "Alright."

—

It took me only a few hours to regret my decision. Our small company had set out on foot from Last Hearth at dawn, and from the beginning it was off to a bad start. The few times I had ventured out of Winterfell, we'd always had plenty of servants and men-at-arms accompanying us. I'd never really thought about it, but with hindsight they had clearly handled many of the more mundane tasks of these trips.

At Last Hearth, Hother Umber had unceremoniously started our trip off by shoving a pack that felt like it weighed half as much as I did on to my back. Apparently Ned and I were to be the manual labour. It had gone downhill from there.

About the only positive I could say about the whole thing, was at least the effort of lugging the giant pack kept me warm. It also kept me too focused on just putting one foot in front of the other to even appreciate the trip. I vaguely recognized that the majestic pine trees and oaks were impressive, but honestly I was too focused on not keeling over from exhaustion to appreciate them.

When we finally stopped for the night, I collapsed in a heap at the camp. I could feel the sweat freezing on me as I waited for the fire to be started, but I was too exhausted to care. Ned, somehow, still had energy, and was filtering about chatting and helping the men set things up.

Finally, my friend plopped down besides me as the fire came to life. "Eyron, Is it true that the trees are even bigger in the Wolfswood? Uncle Hother said the trees there can grow hundreds of feet tall! You have to take me next time you go to Winterfell. And then I can take you to the Bay! I only got to go once, because Father says the Wildling scum raid too much. I have to be older. Eyron? Eyron?"

I gave an exhausted groan as he poked me. How did he still have energy!

I was saved from answering by Hother Umber joining us at the fire, sending me a level look. "Clearly my brother is slacking if you're that exhausted just from a days walk. I'll have to talk to him about increasing your training…"

No! Desperately I struggled into a sitting position and a semblance of awareness.

He snorted, running a hand through his long beard. "Well. You boys hungry?"

Almost as though his words triggered it, I realized I was in fact starving, my stomach giving out a low rumble. A moment later Ned's echoed me.

Hother's usually harsh face lightened in amusement as he gave a low chuckle. "I'll take that as a yes. The gods are with us as well. One of the men had the luck to stumble across a rabbit. It'll be stew tonight."

One of the men-at-arms with us gave a nod at that, bringing forwards his catch. Despite myself I averted my eyes at that. Intellectually I knew of course where the meat came from. But in my previous life I'd never had to actually deal with a dead animal. Even in Winterfell, the food was always cooked for us.

Hother noticed that of course, flinty eyes narrowing with suspicion as they focused in on me. "Eyron. I think it's a good thing you came with us here. We might have to make your company a regular occurrence."

Gods no! I sent Ned a scowl. What had my friend gotten me into?

Ned snickered slightly at my look, and Hother gave a nod. "Yes. Definitely we will be doing this again. Every week I think. Till you can do a day's walk without fainting like a Southron Lady."

He paused before continuing. "You're hungry?"

I nodded my head warily. I'd been around the man enough to sense some sort of trap in his words.

"Good. I'll start the stew. You skin it." And with that he tossed the dead rabbit right into my lap.

I sent the dead thing a horrified look. Averting my eyes.

He grunted. "As I thought."

He pulled out a long wicked looking knife, and reversed his grip. Offering it to me handle first. "Well, get to it boy."

Yeah. No. I took the knife automatically, but that was it. I could barely sit with the dead animal in my lap. It made my skin crawl whenever I looked at it. No way I was sticking a knife in it and skinning it.

Hother gave an exaggerated shrug as I ignored him. "Well. Suit yourself, boy. But that there is our dinner. You don't skin it, we go hungry."

"Eeeeyron!" Ned moaned, clutching his stomach. When I ignored him, he turned to Hother. "Uncle Hother! I'm starving!"

Hother raised an eyebrow. "We all are. But that's our dinner in your friend's lap."

"Eyron doesn't have to, I can skin it…" Ned made to reach for the rabbit but his uncle stopped him with a stern look.

"No."

I felt a surge of anger. I was tired. Hungry. Grossed out. All at once. "But. Why? Let Ned do it."

Hother leveled his flinty gaze on me. "No. You'll do it if you want to eat. And you'll do it again tomorrow night. And every night until I say otherwise. And you're going to come with Ned and me. Every week. If you can't skin a damn rabbit, how are you going to kill a man?"

I shot him an incredulous look. Kill a man? I knew Westeros was violent. And obviously I knew why we were training with swords. But who talked to kids about killing people?

Hother was unmoved by my look. Arms crossed. "Makes no matter to me. Not the first time I've gone hungry. When the cold wind blows, plenty of men will go hungry."

Ned sent me another exasperated look. "Eyron! C'mon!"

I hesitated. Damn peer pressure. But between Ned's hungry moans and Hother's steady gaze I reluctantly picked up the knife.

And a moment later promptly dropped it, as I had to turn away gagging the first time I stuck the blade into the rabbit's flesh.

But under the old man's directions and instructions I picked it up again. And again.

A/N: Well there you have it. A lesson in Umber style fighting and a little bit of culture shock/adaptation for Eyron. Hopefully you noticed that in some things Eyron is getting better… and some he has a long way to go. On the dead animal bit; that is the reaction of a lot (though I'm sure not all) of sheltered kids, or those who aren't really exposed to nature, the first time they come across any dead animal. Also, not sure this needs saying, but obviously I don't actually think Mors' assessment of the best way to fight is actually *correct* so much as his specific biased view. As is Eyron's thoughts on Rodrik. That is him slowly being influenced by the Umber way of thinking. But I did like the idea that its not just coincidence that all the Umbers we meet seem to fight in the same mold in the books. Its clearly not just 'natural selection' so much as how they are specifically taught at Last Hearth.

Anyway next chapter will time skip a few years (though still well before the Prologue of Game of Thrones).


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

I bounced along in my saddle, doing my best to tune out the others around me. I'd quickly learned that when the Umbers traveled they were *loud.* Ribald jokes, cursing, even occasional fights.

I would have avoided this trip if I could. Traveling still further north from Last Heart to some woe-begotten village in the middle of nowhere was not my idea of fun. But when the Greatjon had gotten word of a deserter from the Night's Watch being caught, he'd apparently decided it was the perfect learning opportunity.

It was with a sigh of relief that I finally saw the village come into sight. Hopefully there would be a warm room and a hearty meal that wasn't composed of travel rations.

Besides me, Ned let out a whoop of joy. "We're here! We're here!"

Hother gave us both a quelling look. "None of that boys. And no running off. Jon will want to be about the business of things as soon as possible."

Ned gave a low groan. "But we wanted to explore! Go hunting for Wildlings."

I had been thinking more of a hot fire and maybe a bath. But still.

Hother's Scowl only deepened. "Wildlings are nothing to joke of. Or search for, not until you're a man gown. Viscous scum, they'd as soon gut a boy or rape a woman as give them the time of day. You remember that, boys."

Ned turned solemn at that. "The only good Wildling is a dead Wildling."

Hother pierced me with a particularly firm look. "Indeed. Eyron?"

I squirmed a bit. I found the prejudice against the Wildlings rather irrational. My 21st century mind was pretty confident that the Wildlings were saying the same sort of things about us as we were about them. I wasn't foolish enough to say any of that out loud of course, but Hother seemed to have guessed that my feelings on the subject weren't 'right.' Or at least, I had been subject to endless lectures about the evil ways of the Wildlings the whole ride out here.

As Hother's heavy gaze continued to rest on me, I finally offered up a grumpy "Indeed."

That satisfied him for the moment, as he let the matter rest as we made our way into the village.

The village was really scarcely worthy of the name, no more then a few dozen hovels and huts clustered together. But still…

"So many people…" Ned's eyes were wide.

Hother let out a pleased grunt. "A sign of a lord doing his job. Smallfolk coming in from miles for their lord's judgment."

Really there were likely only a few hundred folk present, but it looked impressive. They were flooded into the square of the town and camping between the buildings, giving the whole place a cramped and crowded feel.

"At last!" The Greatjon's voice thundered over the tumult around us as we pushed on towards the center of the town. They'd even set up a raised wooden platform of sorts, with benches and a few chairs lining it.

Hother had Ned and I shepherded to that platform and seated on the benches along the edge. However the Greatjon was simply ignoring it, stomping around in front of the platform impatiently.

"My Lord…" a thin, rather elderly peasant, was approaching the Greatjon. A headman or mayor of some sort I supposed. "My lord… thank you for coming… we have lodgings you can…"

"Lodgings be damned. Bring me this Oathbreaker." The Greatjon was clearly in one of his moods, his bass rumble cutting right over the peasant.

A satisfied smirk crossed Hother's face as he turned to Ned and I. "Let that be a lesson to you boys. Duty first"

I rather thought it had more to do with the Greatjon's boredom the last few days than any sense of duty, but Ned was nodding wide-eyed as we watched the traitor dragged to the Greatjon's feet.

For all the build up, he didn't look like much. A raggedy man in black rags.

"We caught him up by the Red Creek M'lord. Jarl and Perce did." The headman was eying the deserter nervously, for all he was bound and surrounded by Umber Men-at-Arms. "He was trying to break into their storehouse…"

Another low growl from the Greatjon. "A deserter and a thief. I'm not surprised. There are none lower in the eyes of the gods than an Oathbreaker."

The Greatjon gave the man a kick that sent him sprawling to his knees and hacking blood onto the mud. "Well, Oathbreaker? Naught to say?"

The man let out another low cough and looked up, weary defeat and despair in his eyes. "M'lord… it was just… I couldn't take it m'lord. I didn't know it would be like this… the patrols… the cold…" The man shivered and hacked again. "I'm from the Arbor m'lord… I just wanted to be warm again…"

I shifted uncomfortably hearing some of my own inner thoughts echoed by the poor wretch in front of me.

The Greatjon did not look impressed though. "You took an oath. Your choice. No man forced you."

For the first time the Deserter looked angry, fire coming into his eyes even though his voice was almost hysterical. "A choice? My hand or the black they told me! Some choice! Just for hunting in m'lord's forest." The man's eyes turned wild. "Should have let them take the hand."

Hother spoke up, voice pitched to carry. "A poacher as well. Scum."

The Greatjon drew his sword at that, a giant ugly greatsword that looked almost as big as I, and his eyes were cold. "I care not for your Southron whingeing. You took an oath."

"To guard the Realms of Men!" One of the Umber men shouted that.

I leaned forward in my chair, taken aback at how this was going. From what I'd read in my books about royal trials and laws, I just hadn't expected things to go so… fast. Where was the evidence? The wittinesses?

The Greatjon was nodding. "No man is as accursed as an Oathbreaker. You disgrace the Black you wear."

He stepped forward again, a an armoured foot smashing down on the deserter's back. The man was struggling now, hands scrambling desperately in the mud, but the Greatjon's weight was an inexorable force pinning him down.

"Last words, Oathbreaker?" The Greatjon pressed down harder with his foot.

"Please!" The man was still scrambling desperately. "Please!"

The Greatjon raised his sword. Surely he wasn't going to just…

Desperately I averted my eyes as the sword began its downwards descent, but I could still hear the sound it made as it connected with the man's flesh, and then the ragged cheers from the smallfolk around us.

Suddenly and without warning my head was jerked sharply forwards by the chin, and I found myself looking at the Greatjon's angry visage. He reeked of blood, and behind him I could see the deserter's body. And the head. I deliberately swallowed against the nausea I felt.

"Boy. You don't look away." His grip was like iron, forcing me to stare at the body behind him.

I had to deliberately swallow again as I took in the dead body, but slowly, after what felt like an eternity, I got control of myself. Once the initial shock passed… it was just a body. I nodded my head, or as much as I could in his viselike hold.

Satisfied, the Greatjon released me with a grunt, stepping back. "That was your first time?"

First time seeing a body? I hesitantly nodded.

"Good. That's fine for a first time. One day you'll have to deal with traitors and oathbreakers. But you look away again, and I'll beat you bloody."

I took a shaky breath as the Greatjon stomped away. My legs felt like jello, even though I was sitting down. And despite all that I felt oddly ashamed at glancing away. At disappointing that giant oaf.

At my side, Ned gave me a slap on the back and a comforting smile. "Don't feel bad Eyron. The first time's always hardest. After a while you barely even notice much."

That was oddly reassuring despite the fact I was rather sure that seeing people's heads chopped off wasn't something you were meant to become so blase about.

The Greatjon was climbing up onto the raised platform now. People were still milling about us, and one man-at-arms was kicking the deserter's headless body to the side of the square. With the deserter dead, like as not the smallfolk would want their lord to weigh in on all their petty disputes and arguments.

I was distracted from all this by Hother leaning over and placing a hand on my shoulder. "You know why he had to do that himself, boy?"

Dimly, I remembered my father's words to Robb a few years back. "The man who gives the sentence should swing the sword?"

He gave a nod of approval. "Aye. True and well said. But why?"

Hesitantly I pressed on. "Because if you can't… then he doesn't deserve to die?"

Hother gave a surprised snort of laughter at that. "What? What sort of rubbish is that?"

Ned grinned. "I don't know Uncle! That sounds noble! Like from a story…"

Hother gave an amused shake of his head. "Sounds like Southron rubbish. They're always worried about honor. What's your being a coward got to do with his crime?"

I squirmed uncomfortably, not wanting to admit I'd heard that from my father.

Hother gave another shake of his head, leaning in. "It's much simpler than that boys. One day you will be lords in your own right, with holdfasts and commands of your own. And you need to show strength. And when the cold winds blow? There's no place for weakness. You'll swing the sword yourself, because if you don't no man will respect you. And in winter? That's death."

I gave a hesitant nod which seemed to satisfy Hother. I had only the vaguest of memories of the one winter I'd lived through. But even if my readings hadn't warned me about the winters, seeing how cold it was in summer was warning enough. There just wasn't much margin for error in the North. I had the vague wish that in my past life I'd studied something more useful to my present situation than English Literature. Maybe engineering or farming? But then, I'd only been a Freshman before I ended up here, so how much could I have really picked up?

Meanwhile the Greatjon was on a roll. Rambunctious and loud as he was, he seemed to be plowing through the business at hand at an ungodly speed. Some peasant would come up in front of him, lay out his problem or dispute, the Greatjon would rattle off a few questions or make a ribald jest, and then pass judgment.

Truth be told, it made me feel somewhat uneasy. Sure it was mostly arguments over grazing rights and cattle, but to these folks it had to be life changing judgments. And here we were just rattling off decisions left and right.

As if to prove my point, the next petitioners were a couple; a nervous looking woman and a sullen, rather angry looking man, standing as distant from each other as the space allowed. Surprisingly, it was the woman who spoke up first. "M'lord. I'm sorry to bother you. I was hoping… that is…"

A look of impatience crossed the Greatjon's face. "Yes. Yes. Out with it."

The man stepped forward, raising an angry voice to carry over the woman's. "My Lord. That's my wife. Was my wife. Found her in bed with Cley Tinker."

The Greatjon waved a bored hand. "So what do you want me to do? Throw the whore out and be done with it. No business of mine. Leave her to her kin if they'll have her, or the gods if they won't."

The man scowled at that. "Did just that m'lord. But now she's been whingeing to her brothers, and they're making demands."

The woman looked up at that, fire in her eyes for the first time. "M'lord. I just want what's mine by rights. Ten years I put up with him. The whoring. The drinking. The beatings. He doesn't want me? Well I don't want him I say!"

Her husband's face turned an interesting shade of red. "You… you bitch. If you'd not been a whore to half the town…"

She sneered right back at him. "And if you'd been more a man, I wouldn't have had to…"

The Greatjon cut them both off with a huge booming laugh. "Hah! She's a spitfire for sure. Too much woman for you eh?" The husband turned even redder in the face, but seemed to know better than to contradict his lord.

A moment later, his laughter finally under control, the Greatjon turned back to the woman. "A sorry husband he may be, but you were still handfasted to him."

A defiant look on her face, as without a word she reached up loosening the cloak from around her neck, letting it fall to the ground as she turned her back to our raised platform.

A low gasp went up, but it wasn't due to her nakedness. Her back was crisscrossed with scars, some still barely scabbed over. Raised, red, and shockingly ugly on her skin.

The Greatjon looked grimmer now, all mirth gone. "I see."

The woman turned around, reattaching her cloak about her. "He had no right M'lord."

The husband was spluttering now. "I had every right! It's no man's business, not even of a lord, how I discipline my own wife!"

"No!" I uttered that out loud before I could help myself. I'd been watching the whole scene with shock. I knew this was some medieval society… intellectually I knew I couldn't compare Westeros to the 21st century. But to see that man actually justifying beating his wife? It forced the exclamation out before I could help myself.

The husband glared at me. "That's my wife, boy!"

The Greatjon was on his feet at that, looming over the ma. "And that's a Stark of Winterfell and my ward."

The peasant practically wilted under the Greatjon's displeasure. "Sorry M'lord. M'lord Stark. I didn't know… I mean that is…"

The Greatjon cut him off with an irritable gesture, looking at me with some curiosity. "So. This interests you, does it?"

"My Lord." I glanced down at my feet, avoiding his gaze and unsure what to say. I was already regretting my outburst.

He gave a grunt. "Well. You will have learn a lord's business eventually anyway. Both of you come here…" The latter was addressed to Ned and I.

Ned bounded forwards to his father's side, and at another irritable glance from the Greatjon I joined him at the platform's edge.

He looked down at me, considering. "So. Eyron. You are in judgment. What do you decide?"

The woman looked up at me hopefully, but I did a double take of surprise. He expected me to just render some sort of deciding decision about this? How? "I… I mean. I don't…" What was I supposed to say? "What's normally done in situations like this?"

He scowled, shaking his head. "There is no 'normally.' When you are the Lord, you must judge. You must be decisive. It doesn't matter which way you decide, but you must be sure."

"Umm." I gaped at him. "Maybe we should… should talk to her family?"

"And sit here all day? What would they tell us that we don't already know? Don't waste our time. And be confident." He shook his head in disgust. "No one will respect your judgment if you stutter and hem and haw. Decisive. That's most important."

I nodded sourly. I wasn't really surprised, with the Greatjon everything was about being decisive.

He turned to his son next. "Ned?"

My friend scowled and slammed a fist into his hand. "She should get all of his property! And… and… she should get to beat him too!"

The husband made a horrified choking sound at that, but the Greatjon let out another loud bark of laughter. "Ohh? And why is that?"

Ned screwed up his face in thought. "'Cause… cause he's an ass."

The Greatjon cuffed him upside the head. "Mind your language. And of course he's an ass."

Ned flashed a grin at his father, and was awarded with another cuff and a scowl.

"Boy." The Greatjon growled as he leaned over his son. "Decisiveness is good. But you need to be just too. You need a reason. That's the next most important lesson. Making rulings with no reason is a nice excuse to have the King's justice come down on you."

I blinked. That was actually surprisingly nuanced of him. I hadn't expected it of the Greatjon. But as I thought on it, while he had been moving speedily through the judgments all day, they'd also been filled with pointed questions and a surprising level of local knowledge.

The husband was nodding again. "Like you said m'lord. The laws on my side…"

When the Greatjon made no immediate comment on that, the woman lower her head in disappointment. But my mind was turning furiously at those words, thinking back to the many readings I had done at the Winterfell library.

"Wait!" The Greatjon turned back to me as I called out, his face not revealing anything.

I turned back to the lowborn woman in front of me, marshaling my thoughts and then continuing in a rush before the Greatjon could accuse me of a lack of decisiveness. "He beat you? How many times you said?"

She scowled at that. "More than I can rightly count m'lord."

I nodded, turning back to the Greatjon and Ned in triumph. "You see! The Rule of Six!" Behind us Hother gave a low huff of amusement, but Ned just looked at me blankly as I hurried to explain. "Queen Rhaenys. She declared that only six blows were lawful for adultery. All the other blows are unlawful!"

I carefully didn't mention that even allowing six blows seemed insanely barbaric to my standards. Or that the number six was picked to honor all the gods save the stranger. That background would likely just undermine the argument in the North.

The Greatjon gave a slow nod. "And so he broke the law." The man started to splutter, but the Greatjon ignored him, focused on me. "And what do you do about that?"

I paused to think, but only for a split second. The last thing I wanted was to be accused of hesitating again. "He's a herder, yes?" The woman gave a short nod, so I pressed on. "She should get a sheep. For… for each extra blow she should get one. To do with as she will."

"A fair judgment. You're your father's son in truth." Despite myself, I felt a rush of pride at the Greatjon's words.

He turned to the headman who had been watching the proceeding carefully. "Done. See to it we get someone to count the sheep she is owed."

The man started to splutter, but the Greatjon silenced him with a look. "And she'll get those sheep or I'll know the reason why."

As her ex-husband was shouldered away, the woman gave a low bow to us. "Thank you m'lord. M'lord Stark."

I resisted the urge to squirm in embarrassment at the look of gratitude she was sending me, instead finding my seat again alongside Ned and Hother as the next complaint was brought before the Greatjon.

Hother turned to me, a small smile on his face. "Fair argued. But next time don't quote some Dragon Queen."

I blinked. "But…"

He waved a hand. "It was well argued, but you're lucky Jon was going to rule for the lass anyway."

I blinked a second time, taken aback. "He… he was."

Hother shook his head in amusement. "You didn't think he was won over by your brilliant argument, did you?"

I squirmed in embarrassment, I actually rather thought he had been.

The older Umber let out a snort. "Don't let it bother you. He was just teaching you a Lord's business. You did well enough. But like I said, next time don't be spouting about Dragons or Southron laws. Remind me to lend you Maester Kennet's works when we're back home. If you must quote laws and traditions, quote Northern ones."

And after that, the stream of petitioners continued without any great drama.

Finally, as the sun began to set, there was the feast.

I had to admit, it was a good way to end the day. There were so many fires burning in the village square that, if anything, it was almost too hot. And there was more food than I'd seen in quite some time. A whole pig was roasting, and dish after dish being passed around. Rustic fare, but all good.

The alcohol was flowing freely too, and I could hear the Greatjon roaring out a song. The man had a shockingly good voice.

Hother seemed to have been deputized to keep an eye on Ned and I, but he didn't look like he minded too much. By the time he finally leaned back in satisfaction, he was heavy into his cups and a small mound of ribs littered the floor behind him.

On my other side, Ned looked up, clutching his stomach and giving a contented groan. "I can't eat another bite…"

Hother let out a low belch. "Aye, a good feast. Though half this lot will regret it come morning."

Ned let out another groan. "The morning? Do we have to go so soon? I like it here."

I glanced across the square where the Greatjon was roaring drunk now, a woman dangling from each arm, and gave Hother my best skeptical look.

He snorted. "Aye. Well. I doubt we'll be leaving with first light. But you watch and see, we won't linger much beyond that."

Ned made a face. "But why? Let's stay a few days!"

Despite my initial dislike of this trip, I found myself agreeing with Ned. "What's the rush?"

With a huge sigh, Hother heaved himself up in his chair and actually focused on us. "Don't be fools. Why do you think we came out here to begin with?"

I rolled my eyes. "Because of the deserter."

Ned nodded. "The king's justice!"

Hother made a sour face. "Aye true enough. But more than that. A lord has to show his people that justice comes from him."

Ned looked at him blankly, and Hother sighed as he pressed on. "People have to see that their Lord cares and will be about his business. What are the folks here going to remember? They'll remember that Lord Umber came. He meted out justice. Solved their disputes. And then held one gods-damned giant feast at the end of it."

Ned blinked at that. "So then why leave so fast?"

Hother flashed his teeth. "Well. As to that. You don't want to outstay your welcome. Lord shows up for a day? He solves your problems and you have a celebration at the end. A lord stays a week? Well suddenly now he's meddling in your business. And that feast? One night and it's a celebration to remember. But if these folks have to feed us for too many days, they'll be cursing our names come winter."

I gave a slow nod. It made sense. Show up for a day and show your presence. Then get out of dodge before you switched from being a boon to a nuisance.

Hother smirked as he saw my understanding. "So you enjoy this. But don't expect to sleep in. You'll have a long day ahead of you tomorrow."

—

Hother was right. We weren't up with the dawn, but a few hours and a small breakfast later and we were on the road.

It was amazing how fast the town emptied out with us leaving. By the time we left, the place had gone from bursting at the seams to looking half abandoned. The only sign's we'd been there was the still raised platform and the heaps of rubbish and refuse left from the feast. I rather imagined the smallfolk would be cleaning up after us for some time.

The journey back was also much more subdued than going out had been. Half the men were still nursing hangovers, and everyone was bleary eyed and tired. Even the Greatjon was largely silent, and it wasn't until nearly noon that the low hum of talk started to pick up.

I was only half paying attention to Ned regaling me with some adventure he had with one of his older brothers, when the men around us began to rein into a halt.

It was confusing until I look behind us and saw a cloud of dust indicating a rider fast approaching.

When the rider finally came into view, it was clear he'd ridden the horse half to death. The poor beast was foaming at the mouth with sides heaving when the man leaped off, throwing himself at the Greatjon. I was also surprised to recognize him; it was the old headman from the village. He must have galloped the whole way to catch up to us.

"My Lord. My Lord." He was gasping, taking giant heaving gulps of air.

Hother looked tense at my side, and the Greatjon's eyes were narrowed in suspicion. "What's the matter, man? Speak."

The headman took another great gulp of air. "Wildlings my lord. Raiders. They were burning everything… I ran to find you. To get help."

There was a split second of silence as everyone took this in. Then the Greatjon let out a roar of anger, wheeling his mount around viscously.

"How many." That was Hother, voice grim and hard.

The headman gave a shake of his head. "I'm not sure my lord. A dozen. Mayhaps two?"

Hother nodded. "Not enough if we catch them. If we hurry… if they take their time to pillage and steal…"

The Greatjon let out a fierce grin at that, one that was somehow much scarier than his roar had been. "Their luck has turned by the Gods. To dare raid so near us? We'll catch the bastards with their pants down for once. And gut them to a man."

The men were quickly turning around, falling in behind their lord, but Hother paused to glance at Ned and I. "The boys?"

Ned piped up at that, a scowl on his face. "We're coming with you. Umber's don't run from Wildlings."

For once the Greatjon didn't laugh at his son's fierceness. "This is no game boy."

Hother shook his head. "We can't leave them. We can't spare the men to guard them all the way back to the Hearth, and Gods know if there are more of the bastards in the hills."

The Greatjon growled, sawing at his reins impatiently. "They come."

I felt a pit in my stomach. Come with him? Why was he taking us towards a bunch of raiders intent on killing and raping everyone in our path?

Unbidden the hundreds of stories I'd heard of the Wildlings, first from Old Nan and then in Last Hearth, ran through my head. Suddenly, my earlier dismissal of those stories as being culturally biased didn't seem too reassuring.

Hother was nodding his head and turning to us. "You boys will stick close. And when we get to the village you'll wait outside. With a guard. You understand?"

Ned scowled again, and unbelievably argued. "But uncle…"

"No." His voice was like ice. "This is no game Ned. You will listen."

Any reply Ned made was lost to me in the chaos that followed. Our entire column was turned around. The Greatjon had two of his men riding besides Ned and I, but everyones' attention was on the road in front of us.

The men were grim and stone faced as we retraced our steps back towards the village, and even the Greatjon was silent save for an occasional low growl and curse.

It had been three hours since we departed the village. But that had been at a sedate walk and not the desperate push we were now making.

As anxiety gnawed at my stomach I glanced at the two Umber men guarding us and the dozens riding besides the Greatjon, and tried to reassure myself that everything would be perfectly fine.

A/N: So first off, apologies on the long delays (on all my stories). Ive been traveling and then life got busy, but this one was also just giving me issues. You all probably noticed there was no time-jump like I said there would be. Originally this 'arc' was set after a time jump four years in the future. However, as I was writing I found the time jump not working. I wanted the character to evolve, and while some of that could be explained by four years of living with the Umbers, I didn't feel like I had laid enough ground work. Too much telling as opposed to showing. So I've moved the next couple of chapters before our time jump, which will hopefully lay the ground work for some of the character evolution I want to have happen later. TLDR: Time Jump delayed another chapter or two.

Unrelated, I also liked the idea of different Northern houses having different interpretations and traditions of the "swing the sword yourself" thing. Very often in societies like this, different tribes or groups will have different interpretations of the same traditions. I always got the sense that Ned's views were based on his personal honor code. All the North keeps to the 'old ways' but I can't see someone like the Umbers or the Boltons justifying it based on the reasons Ned gave. I suspect that his 'reasons' and justifications owe as much to his upbringing in the Vale as they do to Northern traditions. So I liked giving it a little twist here and showing the North isn't always monolithic in its beliefs.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Ned and I watched anxiously as the Greatjon and the others vanished from sight. We'd been left behind with our two guards and a strong admonition not to wander.

Those instructions suited me just fine, but I could tell Ned was particularly displeased. He'd spent the last hour pacing around fingering his shortsword. We'd both been given one with the admonition of 'just in case.' Ned seemed to think this situation fit the 'just in case' requirements.

"We should be with father! Fighting! An Umber doesn't fear Wildlings."

One of the guards gave an amused laugh. "Indeed they don't! That's why Greatjon will soon have things will in hand."

His partner gave a grim sort of nod. "The bastards like to raid little villages. Burn and carry everything off. Well, this time they hooked more than they can handle…"

I ignored the byplay, squinting into the distance. "What's that?"

The first guard glanced at the plume of smoke I had noticed and gave a disgusted grunt. "Wildlings like to burn things. Like as not they set the village afire."

The second guard made a show of nonchalance, taking out his belt knife to pair at his nails. "Won't help them any. Not once Lord Umber falls on them. Just a shame we wont see it ourselves…" he gave a disgusted shake of his head… "eight years with his lordship, and I'm stuck babysitting brats."

Ned switched his focus to the second guard, head lifting as he sensed an opening. "Then let us go! We won't say anything… we promise."

The guard laughed at that. "Your father would skin me alive, boy."

"Maybe just let us get closer? To see?" Ned wheedled.

When the guards just looked amused at this pleading, Ned turned to me, a fierce look on his face. "Eyron, you can *order* them to take us!"

I blinked. The last thing I wanted was to get involved in this. "What?"

Ned's eyes took on a gleam. "You're a Stark of Winterfell! Order them to take us closer! They would have to listen to you…"

"Ahh…" I hesitated, glancing to the guards for help. I had literally zero desire to get closer to this raid. But I also found myself not wanting to shut down Ned. There was nothing an Umber despised more than cowardice and…

I was saved by another amused snort from the guard. "Yeah. That's not happening. We take our orders from Lord Umber. Not Stark. No offense, boy."

"None taken…" I managed to offer a weak smile and an internal sigh of relief.

"Yes taken!" Ned was not appeased, his usual sunny disposition hidden behind his scowl. "Eyron and I *need* to go… to help father…"

The guardsman heaved a sigh. "Look. Kid. I know you're worried…"

"I'm not worried…" Ned managed to fill that word with scorn. "I know father will win. Of course. It's just Wildlings. But…"

The guardsman knelt down in front of him. "Look. Boy. I remember when I was a lad, not much older than you. My father was a guardsman too, to old lord Hoarfrost. I hated waiting back then. But think of it this way… you know your father's got nothing to fear from a bunch of savages from North of the Wall, right?"

I resisted giving an eye-roll at the 'savages' comment, but Ned gave a hesitant nod.

"Right. So." The guardsman continued after a pause. "If you go rushing off after him now, it'll be YEARS before your father forgives that and let's you join him, yes? But follow orders? Show you can play the man's role by doing as your Lord commands? And who knows, maybe next time you can help?"

Ned seemed to consider this, working it over in consideration. Finally, he gave a nod. "Fine. But you're going to tell father we should go with him next time. Right, Eyron?"

"…Right." I gave a half-hearted agreement, mostly just glad my friend seemed to be calming down.

"Hah. There you go." The guardsman got back to his feet, glancing towards his partner before focusing back on Ned. "See? It won't be so bad. Besides, I imagine by now Lord Umber is just about…"

Suddenly an arrow sprouted out of his back.

The guard let out a surprised yell, half stumbling and half spinning as he turned around.

Another arrow went through his throat, and he fell to the ground.

Looking up, I could clearly see two men cresting the hill. One was clearly the archer, and the other had a sword out.

Ned, eyes wide, darted to my side. "Eyron!"

"Wildlings…" Our remaining guard let out a low hiss, sword drawn as he closed with the two approaching men.

Then the guard was exchanging blows with the Wildlings. I watched as his sword bit deeply into the shoulder of one of his opponents, and for a second I felt hope. But then the sword caught on the wounded Wildlings armor. It snagged just for a second, but it was enough for the second enemy circle behind him and deal a nasty blow to the guard's head.

I blinked, snapping out of my stupor and grabbing Ned's arm. "We've got to run… now…"

My friend scowled, shaking me off and drawing his short sword. "An Umber doesn't run…"

"Ned!" I hissed, but my friend ignored me, charging at the two approaching Wildlings, sword waving.

The unwounded Wildling parried the blow contemptuously, then lashed out with his foot, tripping Ned. My friend went sprawling, sword flying from his hand.

"Well. Well, well, well. What do we have here?" The Wildling placed a foot on Ned's back, keeping him down.

My friend growled, scrambling in the mud to stand up. "You bastards! I'll kill you!"

The man laughed. "I like this one!" Now that he was closer, I could see he was young. Likely still in his teens.

"Stop fooling around, Jarl. You want to wait for Umber to catch us?" The wounded Wildling was older, and his face was white with pain. Or perhaps blood loss.

Jarl gave an elaborate shrug. "I warned The Weeper. Told him you didn't linger on a raid. But the fool had to have his fun, and now look at what's happened."

"All the more reason to make for the Wall! Now!" The other man hissed.

Jarl gave another laugh, pressing his foot down on Ned. "Ohh. But Grigg?. Didn't you hear what this boy said? 'An Umber never runs' he said. And look here…" his foot nudged at Ned's muddy tunic, which had the Umber sigil on it. "What do you want to bet this is Umber's own son? I'd wager on it."

Grigg swayed on his feet, hand clenched against his wound and face pale. "What of it? That bastard stuck me good, and they'll be chasing us for sure. What do we want with some brat?"

Jarl smirked, hauling Ned to his feet and twisting my friends arm behind his back. "Think what Mance would do to get his hand on Umber's get? What a prize he'd be! We'd spend the winter warm and sipping summer wine.

Grigg spat. "Will be a bloody miracle if we make it to the Wall now. And you want Umber to chase us the whole way there? And drag some kid along to slow us down? He's Umber's get? Than stick a sword in the brat's throat and be done with it."

Shit, Jarl seemed to actually be considering that. Part of me wanted nothing so much as to try to slip away unnoticed. I doubted , wounded and burdened as the Wildlings were, that they would chase me far. But… Ned. I felt something shameful squirm in my stomach that I'd even thought of running.

Instead, I straightened myself and spoke. "You don't want to do that…"

Both Wildlings blinked, almost as though they were noticing me for the first time.

Jarl cocked his head. "And who is this?"

Ned squirmed. "Eyron! No!"

I cleared my throat nervously, never so glad that I was wearing a plain wool doublet. No Stark sigil on it today. "Just… just his friend, Ser."

Jarl laughed, turning to his companion. "You hear that, Grigg? He calls me Ser! Next the boy's going to be kneeling to me!"

Grigg didn't seem amused. "Kill them and be done with it, Jarl. No more gabbing."

"No!" I spoke with haste before they could say anything else. "He's worth more alive. Definitely! Kill him, and the Umbers will chase you. The Nights Watch will chase you too. They'll never stop. This side of the wall or the other!"

Grigg sneered. "And they won't chase us if we have their precious little lordling hostage?"

Jarl arched an amused eyebrow at me, as though to say he agreed.

Desperately, almost tripping over my tongue I tried again. "Yes. Yes, of course. But… but alive he's your insurance if they catch up to you! He's worth more alive. You… you…" I steeled myself as I tried to convince them… "You can always kill him later. But harm him now and you can't undo it."

Jarl let out a little snicker. "Kill him later, huh? Awfully cold blooded of you for his supposed friend! But see…" he turned back to his companion. "Even the boy gets it!"

"Gah!" Grigg snarled. "Fine. Gods be damned. Enough gabbing. They'll be on us any moment."

Jarl nodded, and gave a pointed glance to his companion's wounded arm. "Indeed. I'll carry the boy."

I felt myself sag in relief that they wouldn't be harming Ned.

Jarl paused a moment before continuing. "And Grigg? Kill the spare…"

Wait… did he mean…

Jarl gave me an apologetic shrug. "Sorry boy. Nothing personal. But can't take you both, and wouldn't do for you to point them in our direction…"

I took a stumbling step back. "No... No I wouldn't…"

Jarl sighed, turning to his companion. "Grigg. Make it quick…"

"Gods damned." The wounded Wildling started to stomp towards me, his dripping blood leaving a red trail behind him, but drawing a sword with his good arm all the same.

"Eyron! No!" Ned started to struggle, biting, scratching and scrambling desperately.

Jarl was scowling, and gave Ned a smack that sent him flying across the snow. "Don't make me reconsider keeping you alive, brat…"

Ned was scrambling in the icy mud, but Jarl was already nearly on top of him.

Then I was forced to turn from my friend, as Grigg closed the distance.

"Don't. Run. And I'll make it… quick…" The Wildling was gasping as he moved towards me, and I could see that blood was still dripping down his side.

Dimly, I heard Mors Umber's words in my mind. 'Always move forwards. Momentum.' And I charged.

I don't know what came over me. One second I was backing away… and the next I was charging forwards, swinging my own sword.

"Gods. I. Fucking. Hate. Umbers." Grigg was gasping with pain as he parried my wild thrusts.

Still, even wounded and one-armed, he was an adult with an adult's strength. My blows didn't seem to even daunt him.

I pulled back for a half second studying him. Then, before he could seize the momentum I charged again, this time shifting to try and reach his wounded right side.

Once, twice, three times I struck out. But he blocked the first two and stepped back from the third.

Then he gave me a kick and I went sprawling, feeling my ribs creak.

"Gods. Damned. Southerners…" Grigg was gasping as he practically fell on top of me. "Just… fucking… die…"

I felt my eyes widen as his sword came careening towards my head. Desperately I twisted and scrambled to try and get away. And instead of losing my head, I felt the air rush by as the sword just missed me.

Quickly as I could, I kicked out with my foot, sending the blade flying away from us.

"Damn… nuisance…" Instead of going for the blade, Grigg was half lying on top of me, face twisted in a pained grimace.

I kicked and scratched at him, but it didn't seem to do any good. I could smell his foul breath now, he was so close, and his fingers were scrambling at my neck.

I'd never felt more like a helpless eight year old. Our size disparity was just too much It was like punching at a boulder. And now his hands were starting to tighten around my neck.

I was going to die. Again. I couldn't believe it. I tried to kick at the Wildling again, but he didn't even react, leaning over me and bearing his weight down, his blood dripping into my eyes.

His blood… desperately my eyes darted to my left. With every ounce of strength I had in me, I pushed my body towards the left, shifting.

Grigg shifted with me, hands leaving my neck for just a moment as he prepared to get a firmer and more final grip…

And then, with every ounce of strength I could summon, with my full body weight behind it, I smashed my fist into his wounded shoulder.

And the man screamed.

It was blood curdling and high pitched, and he reared away from me, falling onto his back.

I scrambled to my feet in a panic, then ran towards the sword that had been kicked aside, hands closing on it as I turned around to face my enemy.

I needn't have rushed. Grigg was still lying where he had fallen. The Wildling was even paler then before, and there was blood from his wounded shoulder pooling all around him.

I took a hesitant and wary step towards him, but the man made no move to get up. He was still alive, I could tell, but his breathing was coming in pained gasps. His eyes were half lidded, and there was blood everywhere.

"Wonderful. You were finished off by some eight year old brat. What a story that will make when I tell it to Val…"

I whirled around. Jarl was standing two dozen feet away, observing the scene with disinterest. Ned was contemptuously slung over his shoulder, hands bound with a strip of cloth.

"Well, boy." The Wildling cocked his head as he continued. "Looks like this is your lucky day. You get to live after all."

I felt my eyes narrowing as the Wildling started to turn. This time, I didn't hesitate. "No."

Jarl made an exasperated sound. "I'm offering you your life…"

I hesitated only a moment before stalking forwards, my sword held in my hand.

Jarl didn't wait for me to reach him. A fierce grin on his face, he darted forwards and slammed into me, not losing his balance even with Ned draped across his back.

I went flying, the sword shooting from my hand yet again.

The Wildling heaved a sigh as he stalked closer. "Well. I suppose if you *insist* I'll finish you after all. Never let it be said…"

Jarl's words were cut off as he let out a scream of pain.

In awe, I watched as Ned twisted on the Wildling's back, his teeth sinking into the man's ear.

Jarl's fist was pounding on Ned now, trying to make the boy let go. But my friend, eyes radiating anger, only clenched his teeth tighter, his bound arms wrapping around the Wildling's neck in a firm grip.

"You bastard!" Jarl let out another scream as he finally threw Ned a clear six feet across the hilltop. A chunk of his ear, now a bloody mess, went with my friend.

"That's it! THAT IS IT!" Jarl was screaming, a crazed look in his eyes. "I don't care whose son you are. You're dead. DEAD!"

He was stalking towards Ned, one hand clutching his shredded ear, the other with bare steel in its grip.

I didn't hesitate. My sword was too far, lost in the mud, so I drew the hunting knife Hother had insisted I carry. And I moved forwards.

Jarl was so focused on Ned, he didn't even seem to hear me approaching. I started to worry what would happen if he did hear me. What if I wasn't strong enough to hurt him? If I missed? Then I pushed those thoughts aside.

I couldn't second guess. Couldn't pause to think. I cleared my mind and simply ran forwards the last few steps.

And then I leaped. I had been aiming to get high enough on the Wildling's back to reach his neck, but I didn't make it that far. Instead, I stabbed down, watching as the knife sunk between the man's shoulder blades.

Desperately, I threw my whole weight at it, trying to push the blade in as far as I could.

Jarl let out another scream, stumbling to his knees. But then his arm was reaching behind, picking me bodily off his back and slamming me down next to Ned.

I could see his hand scrambling for the knife now lodged into his back. He let out another scream, half pain half rage, when his hand brushed against it. He couldn't seem to bring himself to try and pull it free.

"You." The sheer fury in his voice was a sight to behold. "You're dead. Both of you."

For a second he swayed above us, ear a bloody mess, knife jabbed into his back. I half hoped he would simply keel over. But he steadied himself, raising his blade up, determination in his eyes…

And then I watched in stunned disbelief as his head literally went flying.

It was almost surreal. For a second I didn't understand what had happened, didn't believe what I had witnessed. But there was Jarl's head, half a dozen feet away in the snow, eyes already sightless. And there was his body, slowly toppling over.

And behind him, looming over everything, stood the Greatjon.

Dimly I could make out other Umber men arriving and milling behind him, but my eyes were firmly focused on the Greatjon.

"Father!" Ned practically threw himself at his father, arms wrapping around the man.

For a moment, I lingered just watching the two of them. Then the Greatjon motioned me to join him. I hesitated a moment, this man wasn't my father… in either world. And damn it, mentally I was a teenager, not a little kid.

He motioned again, and as I hesitantly stepped forwards and the man enfolded me in a fierce hug alongside Ned.

"You boys." His voice was gruff and hoarse. "It's fine now"

Despite everything, I felt myself leaning into him. My limbs had started to shake now that the adrenaline was leaving me, and suddenly I could feel every bruise and ache on my body. But there was something that felt weirdly reassuring and safe with the Greatjon. My eyes darted to the now headless Jarl before focusing back on the Greatjon.

Finally, he pulled back, an arm on each of our shoulders as he examined us. "I'm so proud of you… of how you fought. You were so brave."

Meanwhile, I couldn't seem to stop shaking. I averted my eyes, expecting a lecture about not showing weakness.

Instead, The Greatjon squeezed my shoulder. "Eyron." He waited till he had my eyes. "You did well."

Hother was now standing behind him, nodding agreement.

Suddenly, something occurred to me, and I felt my head whipping around. "There… there was another one…"

Hother and the Greatjon exchanged looks, but it was Hother who answered. "Dead. Bled out."

I blinked, my vision narrowing. Dead? Had I… had he died because of me? He'd been wounded… but he had still been able to stand and walk before I punched him. Was it my fault?

The Greatjon shook his head. "There. Don't worry, lad. First time's always hard. But you did the right thing."

Still. I licked my lips, eyes darting again to the headless Jarl, then back to the Greatjon. "But… he's dead?"

The Greatjon shrugged. "Just a Wildling."

Hother gave a fierce nod behind his nephews back. "You've nothing to feel guilty over. They would have gutted you if you hadn't acted."

The Greatjon's eyes were boring into me now. "It's like I said, the first time's always hard. But it's just a Wildling, Eyron."

I gave a shaky nod.

He squeezed my shoulder again. "Say it, lad. Just a Wildling. Say it."

I licked my lips, hesitating a second before repeating after him. "Just… just a Wildling."

"Again."

"Just a Wildling." I wasn't sure why, but somehow saying it did make me feel somewhat better.

He leaned back, that proud smile back on his face. "Exactly. Now you two tell me what happened here."

Ned spoke up at that, sounding strangely subdued. "They killed the guards. They knew… they knew I was an Umber and wanted to take me. And then the wounded one attacked Eyron… but… but Eyron knocked him out. The other one was going to take me, but then… then Eyron stabbed him in the back…" Ned bit his lip looking down. "I didn't do anything, father."

I shot my friend an incredulous look. Sheer surprise snapping me out of my stupor. "You bit his *ear* off, Ned! You were amazing! I only knocked the other one out because he was bleeding out everywhere. His partner would have killed us if you hadn't done that."

That seemed to snap Ned somewhat out of his funk. "But you stabbed him in the *back* Eyron! It was amazing!"

Laughing, the Greatjon got to his feet, resting a hand on each of our heads. "You both did well."

I glanced at the man, a sudden thought occurring to me. "What about the village?"

Hother heaved a sigh. "Bastards set it aflame, it'll be a long winter for the folks there."

The Greatjon gave a grim grin. "But not a single woman or child carried off. We caught them with their pants down. A handful we're hunting through the hills, but we got most of the bastards."

Hother nodded. "Coren broke his arm. But otherwise? Only casualties were…" he trailed off, glancing behind us to where our two guards were."

I bit my lip, remembering the poor guards who'd died for us. I made a mental note to ask about their families when we got back to Last Hearth.

The Greatjon gave himself a shake, before sending us both a more genuine smile. "I want Hother to look you both over, make sure you're fine. But I say it again, I couldn't be prouder."

Hother's usually gruff expression was much milder as he approached me. "Jon's right, boy. We'll make an Umber of you yet…"

Despite everything that had happened, there was something soothing about all of the approval the Umbers were showing. Especially after all the earlier scornful looks I'd seen.

And at those last words from Hother? For some reason, my chest fill with pride. And I felt a new determination to hear them again.

A/N: Hah. Well there you go. Internet went down today. Crazy when you can't go out, and your TV *and* books all require Internet connections… and you don't have a smart phone… how little there is to do. But on the plus side I wrote a ton for ALL of my stories.

Anyway. I couldn't resist having an Umber bite off an ear! That said, for reference, obviously the Umbers are prejudiced/biased when it comes to the Wildlings. If it wasn't clear, obviously Eyron is latching on to that prejudice. Partly as a coping mechanism, partly because of role modeling (again he was young when reborn here, still impressionable) and partly because you tend to adapt to the culture you are in. Getting approval and acceptance from everyone around you is a dangerous 'drug'. It is, tbh, how a lot of flat out racist groups get adherents in the real world. Not that the Umbers are anywhere near that level, but I only say all this because I've gotten a few comments saying I'm biased against the Free Folk. I'm not. If Eyron was with them, he'd be adapting the same "anti-kneelers" bias *they* have. But he isn't. He is with the Umbers. A large part of this fic is intended to be about exploring Northern culture and also exploring cultural bias (using an SI gets us a nice 'blank slate' for that).

FYI the next mini-arc will have a time skip of several years. As you may recall I delyed the time skip because I wanted to get this chapter in to lay some of the ground work for the changes we will see in Eyron post skip. Assuming we stick to plan, its two-three more chapters for a little side-mini arc and then chronologically we should be to the start of book 1.


End file.
